Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cole should have insisted on washing himself, because guaranteed she’d turn him on no matter how much she tried not to. But she wanted to do it and he couldn’t argue with her premise — she was as fascinated with his body as he was with hers. She’d promised not to touch his cock.
And…okay, it was nice to have her wash him. He felt physically cared for in a way he’d never experienced. “You’re good at this.”
“Adam and I helped clean up the little ones.”
“You have a lot more territory to cover with me.”
“And I’m a happy explorer.” She began crooning This Land Is Your Land as she washed his chest and abs.
“Funny lady.”
“We used to sing to the kids to make them settle down.”
“It’s having the opposite effect on me.”
She glanced down. “So I see. I’ll move around back. I didn’t try that the first time. Maybe that will help.”
“It should. You can’t get into much mischief in that position.”
“Oh, you might be surprised.” She circled him and went to work on his shoulders. Then her washcloth slowed. “Hey, what did you do to your back?”
He went still. Dear God. He’d turned his back on her a few times, admittedly from more of a distance, but she hadn’t said anything. He must’ve decided they weren’t noticeable anymore.
Or he just desperately wanted to believe it. What did he know? It wasn’t like he spent time looking at his back in the mirror.
“Cole?”
“It’s an old injury.”
“I can tell. What happened?”
He’d concocted a lie that he’d used in the rare times someone had asked. He didn’t tend to go shirtless, especially in the apartment he’d shared with Jordie. When he’d been in a relationship with a woman, he’d avoided instances where she could see his back.
Until now, in this big ol’ shower he’d created for two. Until along came a woman who wasn’t satisfied with skimming the surface. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d hoped for? Now what, genius? Gonna lie to her?
No. But maybe he could diffuse the situation.
Letting out a sigh, he turned around. “It’s not important what happened. It was a long time ago. What’s in the past is best left in the past.”
Her gaze was steady. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“No.”
“Someone hit you with something. Hard enough to draw blood.”
His heart thumped painfully. He managed a careless shrug. “Shit happens.”
“How old were you?”
He took her by the shoulders as warm water cascaded around them, filling the enclosure with steam. Droplets caught on her eyelashes. “Mila.” The words came out rougher than he meant them to. “Let it go. Please.”
For a long moment she just looked at him. Then she took a shaky breath. “I guess I could do that.”
He was dizzy with relief. “Thank you.”
“And then what?”
They weren’t out of the woods, after all. “We continue to do what we do best, love each other.”
“Am I supposed to pretend those scars don’t exist?”
“You’ll forget about them. I have.” Mostly true.
“Really?”
“Sure. When you started washing my back, I didn’t think about it until you said something.”
“What about the time it happened? Have you forgotten that, too?”
His stomach pitched. “I don’t think about it.”
“You block it out.”
It was not a question. More of an indictment. “Yes.”
“Just like you blocked out the music and the decorations in the market today?”
“Something like that.” He could see she was headed back to her argument about missing out. He’d rather not go there again. “Tell you what. Let’s table this for now, dry off and go check on the snow.”
Her troubled frown broke his heart. He wanted to bring her only smiles and joy. Maybe he should have told that lie, after all.
She studied him for a moment longer. “Okay.” She handed him the washcloth. “I need to put the sweet potatoes in the oven and prep the chicken. Meet you in the kitchen.” Stepping out on the bathmat, she lifted a towel from the rack, wrapped herself in it and left the bathroom.
He didn’t kid himself that was the end of the discussion. She had more to say and he doubted he was going to like it. Fudge it all, would those old scars turn out to be his undoing?
He really had temporarily forgotten about them. When he was focused on Mila, everything else faded, especially the bad old days.
He’d been in the shower long enough that his fingertips had started to wrinkle. He gave himself a few more swipes with the washcloth so she’d have a chance to put on her jammies and leave the bedroom. The next time they talked, he planned to be wearing a shirt.
Not that covering his back would help. Evidently this moment would have come sooner or later, so maybe it was good to deal with it now. The next challenge was getting past it.
He’d created the lie about his scars when he was on his first construction job years ago and they were more obvious. A bucket of paint had fallen from a trestle and doused him. He’d taken off his shirt, washed it with a hose and put it back on wet.
In the process, one of the guys had asked him about his back. He’d claimed he’d been crawling under a barbed wire fence to escape an angry bull. Mila didn’t deserve to hear that half-assed lie.
She wanted to make things work between them as much as he did. Maybe he could convince her to back off the subject. He’d made love to her while her favorite Christmas music played. That should count for something, right?
Her Christmas-themed jammies would be another test he would pass with fudging flying colors. Ha, ha. The images on them didn’t bother him. He’d just ignore the red and green color scheme. It would be good practice.
Switching off the water, he left the shower and took the other bath towel. He’d had two on the rack from the day he’d installed it. Also two washcloths, plus two hand towels on hooks by the sink.
Although it had taken him months to admit it to himself, he’d always intended to share this loft. The only candidate had been the woman currently in residence. It was a wonder he hadn’t equipped the bathroom with twin sinks.
He could hear her moving around in the kitchen, opening the fridge, running water as she rinsed off the potatoes and the chicken. Music to his ears.
He fetched clean sweats from his dresser, put them on and tucked a condom in his pocket. He might have just ruined any chance to make love in front of the fire tonight, but he’d hope for the best.
Next he reached for a sweatshirt. Out of sight, out of mind, at least until he took it off again. He shoved his arms in the sleeves and was about to pop his head through the neck opening when he changed his mind.
He hadn’t looked at his back in months, maybe even years. How bad was it? He should check. Mila had brought a hand mirror with her, likely to see all sides of her hair. Jordie had always had a mirror like that for the same reason.
Returning to the bathroom, he picked up the mirror, turned his back to the cabinet above the sink and winced. Yeah, those damn scars were still visible — four thin white lines. Three ran from side to side. The fourth angled from his shoulder to his waist.
He shuddered, put down the mirror and turned around as a familiar queasiness churned in his gut. Bracing both hands on the counter, he bowed his head and forced himself to take several deep breaths.
As he dragged moist air into his lungs, he called up an image of loping Sparky through a meadow of pink fireweed. His first ride on his first-ever horse. The beauty of that moment gradually beat down the nightmare, sending it to the dungeon where it belonged.
Sparky had been a godsend, offering him a chance to work off steam at a dead run, meander down a shade-dappled path, or quietly bask in the majesty of a sunrise. Riding his horse helped keep his demons at bay.
Questions about his scars did not. If he’d wondered whether he could handle telling her, he had the answer.
A few more deep breaths and he was ready to put on his sweatshirt. A sweet aroma drifted through the barn doors. Did baking sweet potatoes smell like that? If so, he really had been missing out.
Running his fingers through his damp hair, he walked into the main room in his bare feet. He wasn’t deliberately trying to sneak around. He just needed to get his bearings before announcing his presence.
Mila had returned to the couch to work on a Santa hat. Her phone rested near her hip, softly playing Mannheim Steamroller as she stitched the white furry strip back on. Looked like the last one.
Blocking out the red and green decorating her jammies, he concentrated on the snow falling steadily past the windows, the aroma of baking sweet potatoes, and lantern light gleaming on Mila’s dark hair as she concentrated on those tiny stitches.
Even the faint music was a positive, now that he associated it with loving her.
He wanted this, wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. But could he have it? The jury was still out.
She glanced up, the look in her eyes difficult to read. “Almost done.”
“So I see.” A pain shot through his chest. When she finished, she’d have no obligation to stay. Was she planning her escape?
Her expression softened. “I’m not leaving tonight.”
“That’s good.” No point denying she’d guessed his thoughts. He walked over and settled next to her. “I don’t want you to.”
“I don’t want to, either, but I probably should go back tomorrow.”
“Oh?” The pain in his chest returned. She’d just chopped one night out of the plan. “Why is that?”
“I can’t speak for you, but I need time to think. To process. Normally I’d talk this out with Claudie, but obviously I can’t do that. Instead I’ll take a long ride on Sol.”
He glanced out the window at the curtain of falling snow. He should have known she’d use riding to work things out in her head. So did he. “Tomorrow might not be a good day for that.”
“Or it could be perfect. I checked the weather and the snow should stop around midnight. I love riding over fresh snow.”
Sounded nice, but she clearly wasn’t inviting him along. Maybe she’d accepted his refusal to tell his sob story, though, since she hadn’t brought up the subject first thing out of the box.
That didn’t mean they were hunky-dory, though. Just the opposite. Evidently she felt the need to distance herself. If he had to guess, he’d say she wanted to get clear on whether to continue this relationship. In the process, she’d give him time to reconsider his stance.
He sucked in air. “Is this what people call a soft breakup?”
“Absolutely not.” She stuck the needle in the furry part, put the hat aside and turned to him. “I want to be with you.”
“Except you’re leaving early.”
“Because I need to assess where we are. Where I am.”
“Looks to me like we’re both sitting on the couch in my loft.” A voice in his head corrected it to our loft.
She made a face. “You know what I mean.”
“I do. Just trying to lighten the moment.”
“A lot’s happened in a short time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It started as a strong attraction and, let’s be honest, it quickly ramped up to good old-fashioned lust.”
“You’ll get no argument on that.”
“But now it’s….” Her voice trailed off.
The warm, steady light in her eyes pushed the air right out of his lungs. She sat there just looking at him, her breathing shallow and her cheeks pink.
Alrighty, then. He’d be a fudging fool if he let this moment pass, if he didn’t say what she almost had. “It’s love.”