against the tile and, oh, my, I have a naked man in my bathroom. Naked but for a floral shower cap. But naked—butt naked!!
I slap a hand across my mouth to smother a near hysterical snigger as the shower curtain screeches once, twice, the shower squeaking in protest as he turns it on. The next sound is the one that propels me along the hall long after I should’ve already left. A low groan of appreciation sounds as the water hits him, the tenor almost pornographic.
‘I’m not thinking about him,’ I mutter, pulling open the hall closet and throwing his awful shirt into the washing machine. I briefly consider slipping into the bathroom to grab the rest of his clothes—and not because I’m thinking about him, all slick and sudsy in the steamy room. Much. ‘I’m also not thinking about spying on him. I’m just what you might call a considerate host.’
I decide against the laundry dash, mostly because I’m a chickenshit. Powering on the machine, I exhale a harsh, ‘Shit!’ at the same time as Remy’s yell sounds from along the hall.
‘Shit, shit, shit!’ The washing machine and the shower do not exist in any form of symbiotic harmony. Quite the opposite, because if the washing machine is switched on when the shower is running, the water feels like it’s being pumped from the Arctic.
I hurry along the hallway to shout my apologies when a loud thud sounds from the other side of the bathroom door.
Oh my God. He might’ve slipped and fallen with the shock—please not a concussion on top of a concussion. I’m supposed to be looking after him, for God’s sake!
‘Remy?’ I call, hammering the side of my fist against the door. ‘Remy!’ I twist the handle, too worried to wait when the door springs wide, and I stumble against an expanse of toned and tan chest. Under my fingertips, his skin is warm and smooth and so very firm.
‘Rose?’ Did you know you can actually hear someone smile?
I don’t look up, and I’m not sure my reluctance stems purely from embarrassment.
‘I thought you might have fallen.’
Some nurse I am. I tell myself that I’m just checking on him—that I shouldn’t be surprised to see my fingers widen against his pectoral because I’m just making sure he’s okay. The motion disturbs a bead of water, my eyes tracking the rivulet with the care of a cartographer as it rolls down the landscape of his broad chest. Though not a very diligent cartographer as I become distracted by the trail of downy hair under his navel to where it disappears into the towel tucked low on his waist.
I realise I’m staring—staring like I’m wearing X-ray specs.
Unfortunately, I’m not wearing them. And I’m happy he can’t read my thoughts as Remy’s hand suddenly cups my chin, raising my gaze to his almost moss green and languid ones. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d still been wearing Sarah’s shower cap because his level of attractiveness trumps any kind of ridiculous headgear. The shade of his eyes seem to almost change with his mood.
One hand on my face becomes two as he leans in to press his lips to my left cheek, then my right. His whispered words, though French, are nothing short of perfect.
‘Merci . . . Thank you for worrying about me.’
I pull away with a sense of reluctance I feel deep in my bones. But this isn’t about me and what I want. This is about taking care of the man who’s been attacked. A man with a head injury.
Remy follows me to the bedroom, throwing his clothes on the chair next to the door, then dropping his wallet and watch negligently on top. Doesn’t he have a phone? Did it slip from his pocket when he fell from his bike?
I’d drawn my blinds last night before leaving for work and my bed was freshly made yesterday, which is just as well as I’m too tired to fight with a duvet cover right now. I peel back the bed linens and plump the pillows, savouring the floral scent of my laundry detergent.
‘I guess we shouldn’t sleep too long, not unless we want to become vampires or opossums or something. Anyway, I’ll see you in an hour or two. You know, just to make sure you haven’t died in your sleep.’ I straighten and turn quite suddenly, the plea of don’t die in your sleep drying in my throat as Remy stands in front of me, not