I saw Brody, back to the room, his clothes, likely Max’s clothes, were dry and he was standing at the railing.
Max walked me directly to my suitcase.
“Max, seriously, I’m fine.”
“You’re tremblin’.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, you will, after you get some dry, warm clothes on you.”
“Max!” I snapped.
“Shut it, Duchess,” he clipped back then put me on my feet.
I no sooner got steady when his hands were at my sweater and it was over my head, it’s sodden weight lifted clean away and I felt like I’d come out from under a boulder.
Even so, I breathed, “Max,” and looked over my shoulder at Brody, who still had his back to the room.
When I turned back Max was digging through my suitcase.
“Bra off,” he ordered quietly when he turned to me.
“What?” I breathed again.
He lifted up a clean bra. “Wet bra off, dry bra on.”
“Brody’s here,” I hissed.
“Brody’s not thinkin’ about your body,” Max returned.
This was definitely true.
I twisted my hands behind me and unhooked my bra. Max handed me the new one before the wet one fell away and he’d already turned back to my suitcase and was again rummaging when I clumsily slipped it on.
When he was facing me again, he had my heaviest sweater in his hands and he gave it to me then his hands went to my jeans.
“Can you get your boots off?” he asked as the button came undone and the zip went down.
I nodded and with some effort flipped my boots off with a toe to each heel as he pulled the jeans down my legs. When he did, I sucked in breath when surprising, stinging pain struck my entire left side.
Max’s hands stopped pulling down the jeans and they went to my hips. He tilted them slightly, looked my leg up and down and whistled through his teeth.
“Scraped, honey, hip to ankle,” he muttered, his fingers probing gently at my flesh.
“I’m okay,” I assured him.
“We need to get this cleaned up.”
“In a minute.”
His head tipped back and he looked at me. “Nina –”
“Please, Max,” I whispered, my whisper heavy and clogged, my tone saying I was holding on but my hold was loose and slipping.
His eyes held mine for a long moment before he went back to my jeans and gently freed them from my ankles.
I stepped out of them and he tossed my jeans where he’d tossed my soggy sweater. He straightened, walking to the dresser as I tugged on the sweater and he pulled out a pair of his pajama bottoms. These were flannel, checked dark brown and red on a cream background.