Chapter 8
Eyes on thefucking wall, idiot.
All right, so Rami wasn’t as noble as he’d liked to think. It was impossible to have sexual thoughts right now, knowing what Ivy had endured. His head knew that. Nevertheless, his dick didn’t get the memo because a naked woman stood inches away.
He waited while she absorbed what seemed to be every drop from the showerhead, holding her hands out as if it were giving life. Although he kept his eyes north like he’d promised, he couldn’t unsee the three large bruises and numerous little ones that colored her skin. Someone had dug their fingers into her shoulder.
Bastards.
The sight made him really fucking glad he’d brought that grenade. “You okay?” he asked.
She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. Just feels nice.”
Ah, hell. He could tolerate a lot of things, but seeing her break had fucking gutted him. She didn’t need him hovering over her while she let out her trauma, but he also couldn’t leave her alone until she was steady.
He watched her pick up the bottle of shampoo, fill her palm, and work the liquid into a lather. Her movements were slow and laborious. Debris ran from her long strands, and if he broke his word and looked down, he knew he’d see brown water.
Poor thing.
He hadn’t considered the hell she’d go through after her rescue. All he’d thought about was getting her out and ending the abuse.
She was nowhere near out of this nightmare. He might have taken her away from the abusers, but the damage would linger for years. He could wipe every fucking tear from her cheeks and it wouldn’t do jack shit.
Hearing her say that cracking open her skull wouldn’t be so bad had cut him to the bone. Scared him. More than it should have. Maybe he’d just been affronted considering they’d risked everything to save her.
But no. It was more than that.
Her arm shot out to grab the wall of the shower, and he swept an arm around her waist. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Just dizzy.”
Shit. She hadn’t even washed yet. “Can I give you a hand?”
A second became two. Then three. “Um, I guess.”
“Same as before. I won’t look.” He brought his hands to her hair, but seeing her reach for the wall again, he knew he had to reposition her. “Turn around and lean against me.”
Slowly, she did as he said, one arm clasped around her breasts as she met his eyes like a deer in the headlights. Christ, he hated that she was scared.
That she didn’t know he wouldn’t fucking hurt her.
Did her kidnappers?
They’d beaten, starved, and drugged her, but... Jesus, had they touched her? Red lace encircled his vision. He opened and closed his hands with the effort it took not to punch the wall.
She watched him as though she sensed he was going to spring. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He dragged his palm over his face and then eased her forward until she was plastered against the front of his body. Now his dick was really fucking confused. But at least he could save her the embarrassment of him seeing her buck-ass naked.
He brought his hands to her hair again and massaged her scalp. Her eyes closed and her lips parted, her head heavy in his hands. She pressed her palms against his sides for support.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, finally answering her. “I just—it bothers me. What they did to you.”
She opened her eyes, and the deep emeralds slammed into him. “Why?”
He jerked as if her question were a bullet. After guiding her head backward, he doused her hair under the spray and shook out the bubbles. Yup, brown.
“Why? ’Cause it was fucking wrong.”
She nodded. “I owe you a thank-you.”
Shame filled him. He squirted conditioner into his palm and coated her strands. “No, you don’t. Your sister paid us.” He didn’t hide the bite to his voice—she needed to know the circumstances. Thirty-six hours ago, he’d refused the fucking job. Numerous times. And if he hadn’t accepted, Ivy would’ve taken her last breath in that grungy camper.
He was no fucking hero.
She tilted her head to the side an inch. “Well, still. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The words came out strangled because he hated to accept her gratitude and didn’t want to talk about it another second. “Head back.”
She exposed the column of her throat, with way too much trust, and revealed more blasted bruises. He cradled the nape of her neck and rinsed the conditioner from her strands, which could probably have benefited from several rinses and repeats. Unfortunately, her stamina and his self-control didn’t have the time.
With her hair as clean as it was going to get for now, he picked up a washcloth and scrubbed the bar of soap over the fabric.
Her fingers twitched at his sides, and it took every ounce of his concentration not to focus on her hard nipples pressed to his abdomen. She was so close. The tropical scent of whatever shampoo Taschen had bought filled the bathroom.
She didn’t push away to take the cloth from him. Instead, she stayed glued to his body.
“Want me to do it?” he asked.
She nodded and turned her cheek to press against his chest. He froze. His pulse kicked up and his body hummed with unease.
“I’m so tired,” she said softly.
“’Kay. We’ll do this quick.” He rubbed the cloth in circles over her back and shoulders then shifted so he could scrub her arms, being careful not to disturb her IV. He turned her wrist over and gently touched the marks. “Does it hurt?”
She peeled her face from his sternum and her gaze lowered. Dew collected on her lashes. Her shoulder jostled. “I’m used to it.”
He swept the cloth over the marks, wishing he could remove them along with the drugs they’d put in her.
He scrubbed everywhere he could without seeing her naked. Then he passed her the cloth and stationed his hands on her hips. “Go ahead and finish. I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”
“Thanks.” She took the cloth and turned to rinse it off. As she did, her breasts came into view, her pretty pink nipples hard and wet.
He cut his gaze to the wall. Dammit, he hadn’t meant to check her out. But he also hadn’t expected her to move so quickly. She took the bar of soap, and water sloshed as she scrubbed the areas he’d missed.
After a few minutes she turned to face him, stepping into his orbit again. “Done.”
He reached around her and turned off the water then shook a towel from the rack and draped it over her shoulders. He stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and reached for her.
The white towel hung around her shoulders and covered her to the tops of her thighs. Water droplets speckled her now clean cheeks, and despite their swelling and discoloration, his breath caught. So damn beautiful.
He firmed his jaw as once again he reined in his wayward mind. He didn’t get involved with women in this way. Sex, hell yeah. But he never willingly buckled into an emotional roller coaster. And he wasn’t about to start now.
Seizing her waist, he lifted her out of the tub. She staggered and he kept his grip firm. “You good?”
Her complexion changed from pale to gray. She shook her head and pushed him back. “No, I’m going to—”
He guided her to the toilet as bile raced out of her mouth. She collapsed to her knees and retched again. Goddammit. He peeled her hair away from her face and held it in his fist. He’d let her do too much. She should have rested and gotten food into her before she took on something as strenuous as a shower.
Gasps shook her slim frame. He rubbed her back. “Hang on. I’ll get water.”
A sharp rap sounded at the door.
“No,” Ivy cried. The towel slipped off her shoulder, and she fought to right it. “I don’t want any more people in here.”
“It’s okay, we’ll give you privacy,” he assured her. Her shoulders relaxed and he stood and opened the bathroom door.
August’s gaze, full of condemnation, raked over him. Rami entered the bedroom and shut the bathroom door behind him.
“She just threw up. She needs water.”
August shook his head and strode away from the door. He bent to one of the grocery bags and withdrew a bottle then stood and sneered at Rami’s towel. “Care to tell me what the fuck you’re doing?” he whisper-yelled.
Rami took a step forward. He was too tired for this bullshit. “Excuse me?”
August didn’t back down. “Tell me you didn’t shower with her.”
His muscles vibrated with anger, and he shot out his hand and gripped August’s shirt, yanking him closer. “Are you insinuating I tried something with her? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
August scowled. “Then why the fuck are you naked and wet?”
“I helped her and stayed in my underwear the whole time.” He let go of his friend and tapped his own temple. “You need to get your head examined. Not sure what kind of asshole you think I am.” He strode back to the bathroom and knocked.
“Come in,” Ivy called, her voice shaky.
He entered and untwisted the cap. A little bit of color had returned to her cheeks.
She dipped her chin and clutched the material around her body. “Thank you.” She accepted the bottle.
“Clothes and toothbrush are here,” he said, nodding at the bags on the floor. “Call me if you need a hand.” His voice was sharp. He still wanted to put August’s head through the wall.
Uncertain eyes drifted up to his full height. “You’re angry.”
He tunneled his hand through his hair and summoned a calm he didn’t feel. Yeah, he had every right to be pissed at August—but maybe not this pissed. “Sorry, it has nothing to do with you.”
It had everything to do with her but not in the sense she thought.
“All right.”
“I’ll check on you in a few.” He left the bathroom and stormed to the foot of the bed, where he’d left his backpack.
August sat in the chair, fingers laced together. “Sorry man,” he said. “I just—I know how you are with women and—”
“Stop right there,” Rami commanded. He pulled clean clothes from his bag and dropped them to the bed. His temples throbbed. After the high of adrenaline and the crash of watching Ivy fight for her life, he was in no state to keep his temper in check. Sleep was the best option, but once again, the idea of leaving her side made his chest lurch. “Don’t even act like you’ve got a stable track record with women,” he whispered. “And obviously something went down between you and Gigi—chick wouldn’t even look at you.”
August made an annoyed sound from the back of his throat. “Just be respectful. She’s been through a lot.”
“Which is why I stayed in the shower with her. Poor thing needed to get clean and could barely stand—can you imagine what that feels like? How dirty she was? Christ, have some sense.” He whipped off his towel and kicked off his briefs not caring if August got an eyeful. He’d gladly emasculate the jerk right now.
“So no. I didn’t touch her,” Rami continued. “Not that I need to justify myself to you.” His voice rose dangerously close to a normal level.
“Fine.” August held up a hand. The tension in the room abated.
Rami stepped into dry briefs and jogging pants then pulled on a white T-shirt. “She seems to trust me,” he conceded. “So from here on out I’ll stay close to her. If you’ve got a problem with that, get on a plane and go home.”