“Why is that?”
“Because that means he’s not going to be upset if he finds out I did this.” He unsnapped her jeans and lowered the zipper.
“Trace…” Slim hands curled around his wrists.
“Let me make sure you’re okay, Izzy.”
“I’m okay.”
“Then let me confirm it.” He held his hands up, palms toward her, in his best, I’m harmless gesture. He had no intention of taking advantage, and every intention of making sure any bumps, bruises or scrapes were properly attended to. “ETT remember?”
She sighed and released his wrists. “Fine.”
“Okay, then.” He helped her down and eased her jeans over her hips, trying not to get caught up in the wisp of pink protecting parts of her he’d very nearly had the privilege of pleasuring last night. Kneeling brought it all to eye level. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from saying…anything…and helped her free one foot, then the other, from the legs of her jeans. The jeans went in the mud-zone. A zone from which they might never return. Seeing the bruises darkening the tops of her knees reminded him that the seduction of Isabelle Marcano—no matter how inevitable it might be—would have to wait.
“Jump back up there,” he instructed, and helped her return to her perch on the counter. “Can you straighten this leg?” He cupped her right calf.
“Uh-huh.” Her voice sounded thick, which might have been pain, but she straightened it to full extension. She did the same with the other. He moved a possible knee injury down several notches on his list of things to worry about.
“Okay. Arms up.” He straightened, grabbed the hem of her once-white turtleneck sweater, and lifted it over her head. In the process, he noticed her reflection in the mirror behind her, and couldn’t stop his eyes from zooming to the sight of her pink thong framing the tops of her smooth, bare ass cheeks. Once her head and arms cleared the sweater, he shifted his attention as quickly as possible to her face, but knew she’d caught him looking. Since he was already busted, he took the opportunity to do a more thorough inventory. The sheer, snug, long-sleeved shirt that served as her base layer didn’t do much to hide the pink bra beneath, or the lush opulence supported by the bra. His throat went so dry he had to swallow before speaking.
“Jesus, Izzy. You are a whole lot of temptation wrapped up in one small, tightly wound package.”
She colored at the compliment—which presented even more temptation, to his mind—but pointed out, “And yet, somehow, everyone has resisted this temptation for longer than I care to count.”
“Not me. I don’t stand a chance. The sole reason I’m not on my knees begging right now is because when you finally give me the go-ahead, the only ache I want you suffering from is the ache to have me scratch”—he brushed his lips over her forehead—“your”—he kissed the tip of her nose—“itch.” He denied himself her cotton candy lips, as they were quickly becoming a point of no return, and instead opted to give the point of her chin a friendly bite.
When he drew back, those fathomless eyes stared into him for a long moment. Then her lips curved. “I bet you say that to all the girls you pull out of mud puddles.”
He felt his lips twitch. “Would you believe, you’re my first mud puddle rescue?”
“Sadly, yes.” She dropped her arms and folded her hands around the edge of the counter. “It seems like the kind of honor only I would earn.”
“The honor is mine,” he corrected, and then noticed, in the mirror, a place by her elbow where blood leaked through her undershirt. “And I should probably get on with it. Arms up again, please.”
Instead, she pressed one diagonally across her chest. “I think I’ve got it from here. I’m just going to take a quick shower, and—”
“You’re bleeding, honey.” Taking her other arm, he carefully lifted it, and bent her forearm back so she could see for herself. Torn fabric, torn skin. “This one, too,” he noted, showing her the wound on her other arm, which didn’t look as bad, based solely on the amount of blood visible.
“Oh dear.”
That sounded a little hollow, maybe because she’d suddenly sagged as if her spine had turned to spaghetti. He let go of her arms and looked at her face. Alarm jangled in his brain. “Hey, you’re kind of pale.”
“Sometimes, I don’t…do well…with blood.” She pitched forward in slow-motion, and her forehead landed against this chest. He put his hand along the back of her head. Her neck felt cold and clammy.
“Izzy?”
“Huh?”
“You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”
“I just…need a minute.”
He reached for the washcloth, ran it under cool water, and draped it over the back of her neck. “Breathe,” he reminded her, and took his own advice. She rested against him, still and limp. Unsure what else to do for her, he ran his palm over her back in long, slow, strokes. His hand easily spanned her waist. She really was a tiny little thing.
An appreciative sigh sounded from somewhere around the vicinity of his chest.
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
He felt her lungs expand with a deep inhale, felt the heat of her exhale filter through his shirt. Her hands flattened on his chest, and she pushed against him to straighten. He stayed directly in front of her, his hands hovering by her shoulders in case she toppled. But she didn’t. She took the washcloth from the back of her neck and ran it over her face. “Sorry. I hate when that happens.”
“Oh, baby.” This trip to Captivity was really putting her through a wringer. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry. Sorry about the damn geese, and the mud, and not being close enough to catch you.”
That put a pained smile on her face. “Believe it or not, I don’t need a spotter 24/7 when I’m in my normal environment. I fly like a pro. A hike down a hill doesn’t leave me in crippling pain. Animals don’t attack me, and I can cross a street without falling face-first in mud. I’m actually a very competent person.”
“Competence is situational. I’ve been driving since before I turned sixteen. I drive in rain, snow, and ice, no problem. I’ve dodged moose. I’ve avoided collisions with deer. But the one and only time I tried to drive in Los Angeles, I nearly wiped out on a freeway on-ramp. Lost a side-view mirror on the rental car.” He smiled down at her. “Thank God I’d bought the insurance.”
“Is there some insurance I can buy, for surviving Captivity?”
“I’m your insurance.” Comfortable with her degree of alertness and overall stability, he added, “Arms up.”