not about pussies or dildos. Never those. ‘When we’re not feeling so . . .’
‘Corné?’
‘Did you just say horny, or am I losing my ever-loving mind? You know what?’ I press both hands to my head as I turn from him, then close my eyes and take a deep breath. ‘Don’t answer that.’ Then as fast as my tired legs will carry me, I leave the room, his deep chuckle following me. ‘This way,’ I call over my shoulder. Then add in an undertone, ‘There’s no sense in being ridiculous without an audience.’
‘Il est verrouillé? It’s locked?’
It doesn’t take a French speaker to guess what he’s asking me as I rattle Sarah’s bedroom door.
‘What a bitch,’ I grumble, swinging around and giving the door a kick with my heel. ‘She put a lock on her door and didn’t even ask.’
‘Un colocataire? A roommate? Ah, that makes sense.’
‘It’s my security deposit that’ll pay for that,’ I complain. ‘Why’d she need a lock on there anyway? It’s not like she could’ve anticipated I’d be letting a strange Frenchman sleep in her bed tonight, is it?
‘J'ai vu . . . I’ve seen your sofa. No one over three-foot-tall could get any rest there.’
‘It’s fine. I’ll take the sofa. I shouldn’t sleep anyway. Not if I’ve got to check on you every two hours.’
‘Tu ferais ça . . .You’d do that for me?’ Remy reaches out, his thumb smoothing the crease between my brows. ‘I didn’t think there were people like you in the world anymore.’ His hand cups my face, those unusually green eyes of his suddenly so intense. ‘You take me to the hospital. You stay with me. You bring me home like a lost puppy. And now you want to give me your bed? Non, chérie.’
His words pitched low, and the cadence of his voice is so soft and so sweet sounding, it’s all I can do not to lean in to him. Instead, I sort of force my butt along the wall, sliding in the direction of my bedroom.
My bedroom.
Virgin man-territory.
The room. And me, I suppose, since I moved into it. Revirginized, anyway
But then, as we pass the bathroom, a thought occurs to me.
‘Douche?’
‘J’espère sincèrement . . . I sincerely hope you don’t mean that in the American way.’
Judging by his expression, maybe that was the wrong word.
‘Gel douche? That’s shower gel,’ I murmur to myself. ‘The word for shower is in there somewhere.’
‘Vous êtes adorable . . . You’re adorable when you’re concentrating, do you know that? You do this thing where you roll your bottom lip inwards, which is not only cute but also very sexy. I think you probably pull the same face when you’re touching yourself.’
I stumble backwards a little, my insides pounding to the beat between my ears as it appears as though he’s about to caress my lip. Clutching the doorframe with my hand, I slip into the tiny bathroom, immediately grabbing a fresh towel from the shelf. I drop it over the edge of the tiny tub. ‘It’s the one thing this apartment is missing. A tub I mean. Well, not the one thing. But it’s the one thing I miss. Prendre un douche!’ I announce, the words somehow slotting together in my head.
‘Était-ce une invitation . . . That seemed more like a demand than an invitation to shower. Is there room for two? Will you’ll scrub my back for me?’
‘That seemed like a lot of questions.’ I sigh. ‘I don’t know what the answers are, but I know you can’t get your stitches wet.’ Pushing up onto my tiptoes, I turn and I grab Sarah’s shower cap from where she’s stashed it before pushing it into his hands. ‘Here, you can use this.’
‘Trés attrayant . . . very attractive.’ He quirks a brow, his expression painting a thousand words.
‘It’s not a fashion show. No one is going to see.’
‘Il ne doit pas y avoir . . . There’s to be no back scrubbing, then?’ He stares at the cap in his hand as though alien.
‘I’m just gonna . . . leave you to it,’ I say, sliding between Remy and the basin, then closing the door behind me.
I blow out a breath, long and hard, as I rest my back against the wrong side of the bathroom door. I’m not straining to hear, well, not much, but I swear I hear the sound of his zipper shortly followed by the thud of his boots—one, two—hitting the floor. His belt buckle clangs