“Thank you,” he said. “But I can’t say the same to you. Take a shower, and do it fast. When the power goes out, we’ll lose our water. So go. Now.”
He headed back out the door. And as he closed it behind him, he heard Tasha say, “Wait, what? The power’s going out...?”
“Shower,” he told her. “Now.” And he went into the kitchen to fill the sink and every container he could find with water from the tap.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The lights were all still on as Tasha finished drying herself and pulled on her bathrobe.
Thomas must’ve heard the water shut off, because he spoke through the bathroom door. “Let me in as soon as you’re decent.”
“I’m always decent,” she’d told him, opening the door.
Thomas was standing right there, waiting, wearing only those pajama pants and the soot from his as-yet-untold long story, the first-aid kit in his hands.
Tasha’s heart flipped as she met his steady gaze. He’d kissed her. Intentionally. It still seemed surreal.
He stepped forward, and she moved back so he could come into the still-steamy bathroom.
“I meant dressed,” he corrected himself as he set down the first-aid kit on the sink. “Or robed. Robed will do.”
“Good thing, because my clothes need some serious soaking.” She’d left her jeans and socks in a pile on the floor with her jacket. Her bloody shirt was still out in the living room.
“Don’t wash them,” he said, reaching into the shower to turn the water back on. “Just hang them up, so they dry.”
“Oh, no, but they’re really nasty,” Tasha told him.
“They’ll be even nastier if—when—we have to put them on wet.” As he spoke, he turned slightly away and shucked off his pants as if getting naked while having a conversation was the most natural thing in the world for him.
She was so surprised—his legs were impossibly long and muscular and powerful, ending in the universe’s most perfect ass. She swiftly turned away, but the force of her sudden movement made her stumble. She tripped over her own feet and slammed into the wall opposite the sink with her shoulder, because of course she did.
Thomas was instantly at her side, catching her by the elbow. “Are you okay?”
Fortunately she’d hit the wall with the non-injured side of her body, otherwise she’d be completely unable to speak. As it was, she’d jarred herself and ouch.
She kept her gaze locked on his face, because if simply seeing his bare butt made her stagger into a wall, God only knows what would happen if she got even just a peek of him, full frontal. “You sucker-punched me—psychologically—with your surprise naked butt. You gotta warn me if you’re gonna do that.”
“With my...?”
“A simple, Heads up, Francisco, here comes my bare ass! would suffice.”
He was perplexed and amused but also a little embarrassed as he grabbed a towel to cover himself. But then he did that medic/first responder thing, where he checked her eyes even as his fingers found the pulse in her wrist. “You know we’re trying to hurry here, right? I need to get in that shower, fast.”
“Yeah, and how’d that work out? You fail to announce, so I’m completely unprepared, and—in case you haven’t noticed—you’re now over here making sure I don’t faint, so you’re not in the shower yet.”
It was obvious that he knew she was teasing, but the medical professional was strong in him, so he clearly felt compelled to ask, “Do you still feel faint?”
He couldn’t have pitched her a more perfect softball. “Because of my arm? Nope. Because the most gorgeous man in the world is naked?” she asked. “Hell, yeah. Weak knees. Heart a-flutter.”
He was very embarrassed now, but he was Thomas so he snapped back to business.
“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking, I was doing. Don’t rinse out your clothes. Or mine.” He slid effortlessly back to the conversation they’d been having. “Just hang them so they dry. And then, before you meet me back in here to get bandaged, grab the flashlights from the utility room—put ’em out on the coffee table so we have ’em close, then check to see if there’re any candles anywhere.”
“There are,” she said. There was one in here, on the back of the toilet, plus a whole collection in the bedroom. She was pretty sure she’d seen some candles in the kitchen, too. “Why are you so convinced that the power’s gonna go out?”
“If I were out there, looking to get in, I’d figure out a way to cut the power,” he told her, adding, “Heads up, Francisco, here comes my bare ass,” before he turned to walk back to the shower and dropped the towel. “That better for you?”
Dear, sweet frolicking Jesus. “Much better, thanks,” she said as he stepped into the shower and closed the only slightly fogged clear-glass door behind him.
“Flashlights and candles,” he reminded her as he stepped face-first under the spray. He swept his hands across his face and then up and over his head, and with his muscular arms raised like that, with the water raining down on him, his picture belonged in the dictionary under the definition for sexy. “It’ll be easier to find them before the lights go out.”
“Got it,” Tasha said. And even though watching him shower would also be much harder to do after the lights went out, she picked up their clothes and left the bathroom to do as he’d asked.
Their GPS system was working again, and according to the computer, Prince Tedric had pulled off the state road at a truck stop, either to get gas or food or to use the head.
Probably all three.
“He’s armed,” Dave reminded Rio.
“And we’re not allowed to kill him, not even accidentally,” Rio responded. “Copy that. Although is wounding an option, I wonder?”
The truck stop sign had been new and gigantic and brightly lit in marked contrast to the facility, which was crumbling and small and featured a restaurant called Sawbuck’s Coffee and Grub that appeared to be deserted despite the flickering dim blue neon that announced Open 24 Hours.
Despite the still-early morning hour, a pickup truck was at the gas pumps, with one lone person standing with their back against the cold wind. Rio swung toward them, because even though the person standing there was dressed in decidedly feminine outerwear—a sky blue jacket with a hood trimmed with fake fur—they’d already learned that the prince was an outside-the-box thinker. He’d taken Jeff’s phone, so he could just as well have borrowed Kayla’s jacket.
“Signal’s coming from around the back of the building,” Dave told him, as no, the gas-pumper definitely wasn’t Tedric. It was a woman, older than the prince by around a half-century.
She looked back at Rio unflinchingly, an eyebrow going up in response to what had been his definite Who are you beneath that hood once-over, straightening her stance to convey a strong I dare you, punk message.
Rio gave her a wave and a smile as he navigated around the side of the building, past the deserted hookups to the RV dumping tanks, a sadly sagging car wash, and...