Chapter 7 #2
She stared up at him, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow and swift.
She was so close, he could feel the heat of her body through the towel.
His pulse responded, sending hot blood south.
An uncontrollable urge to unwrap the towel from her body struck him square in the gut, making him stagger backward and out of the bathroom.
“That should work for you,” he muttered, pulling the door closed between them.
He stood for a moment, forcing air into and out of his lungs, trying to calm his racing heart.
Thinking sexy thoughts about the woman he’d been sent to rescue had no place in this scenario. She was the asset. He was tasked to deliver her, not make love with her.
Focus on her injury. There’s nothing sexy about infection.
Crusher dug the antibiotic ointment and medical supplies out of his cargo pockets and laid them out on the small dresser. However, that little bit of activity did little to cool his thoughts.
He crossed to the A/C unit against the wall, adjusted the temperature much lower and leaned over the blower. Nothing short of an ice bath would be enough to cool him off. But this would have to do. Hopefully, by the time she emerged from the bathroom, he’d be back in control of his body.
Too soon, the door opened, and Marta emerged, her hair wrapped in a towel. She wore a floral nightgown that fell to the middle of her thighs, showing more of the scientist’s legs than Crusher had seen to that point.
Again, heat rushed through Crusher. So much for standing in front of the A/C.
“I’ll, uh,” she pointed toward the bed, “just go to bed. The shower’s all yours.” She eased past him and climbed into the bed, her nightgown rising up her leg, exposing more of her thigh.
Crusher grabbed the clothes Liza had left for him without looking at them and dove into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
“She is the asset,” he reminded himself, “you dumb ass.”
“Did you say something?” Marta’s muffled voice sounded through the door panel.
Fuck.
“No,” he lied and turned on the water to drown out any other inane utterances he might blurt out.
He quickly kicked off his boots and stripped off his cargo pants and guayabera shirt.
Without bothering to adjust the temperature warmer, Crusher stepped into the shower and let the cool water wash over his skin, trying not to think of the pretty scientist’s thigh and what else was barely hidden beneath the thin nightgown.
“Don’t be an ass,” he whispered, careful not to speak louder than the sound of the shower.
“Don’t be an ass. She’s the asset.” He repeated the sentiment in his head over and over like a mantra.
By the time he stepped out of the shower, he was more in control and ready to sleep on the hard floor.
A little discomfort would go a long way to keep him from thinking about running his hand up her thigh.
Well, damn. His mind went there again. Would it be too conspicuous for him to step back into a cold shower?
Crusher toweled dry and pulled on a pair of gym shorts Liza had included in the stack of clothes for him.
With his body still hot from thinking about Marta, he opted to go shirtless.
Normally, he slept in the nude. The shorts were a compromise.
He ran his hand through his hair, only managing to make it stand on end.
Out of ways to delay joining Marta in the bedroom, he drew in a breath and left the bathroom.
Marta sat up in the bed, her lower half completely covered by the blanket.
She fought tangles in her hair with a brush Liza must have left for her.
“This is what happens with curly hair when you spend too much time in the jungle.” She let out a frustrated breath and laid her hands on her lap, the brush still tangled in her hair.
“I believe it would be easier to shave it off than to work all the tangles out. I give up.”
“Let me,” he said without thinking. Or rather, he was thinking with the wrong part of his body and walking right into a situation that would not end well for him.
Her eyes rounded. “You’d do that?” She shook her head. “I can’t let you. It’s a nightmare at this point and quite possibly could take the rest of the night.”
“You’ll need to scoot to the edge of the bed so I can reach you.” He moved to stand beside the bed.
“I’ll do one better,” she said and wiggled her bottom toward the center of the bed. Then she patted the spot where she’d been sitting. “Sit. You’ve got to be as exhausted as I am.”
“I should stand.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “If you don’t sit, I’ll just leave the tangles and to hell with them.”
This is a mistake. He knew it the moment he settled on the bed, and she turned her back to him.
He eased the brush out of her hair and started at the ends, working through a strand to gently pull the tangles free. Once he smoothed that strand, he moved to the next. The tangle-free hair sprang back into loose blood-red curls that began drying into dark copper swirls.
Once the back was smooth, he brushed several more times, in slow, even strokes.
“Umm,” Marta moaned. “You’re making magic. I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed since even before I was taken.” She turned to face him and closed her eyes, giving him access to the hair that framed her face.
He worked the tangles free and stared down at her face, marveling at how beautiful she was. No makeup, her hair curling softly around her cheeks, her full, rose-colored lips soft and ready to kiss.
She blinked her eyes open. “All done?” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper.
He nodded.
“That’s too bad. It felt so good.” She pushed the hair back from her face. It slipped back into her face.
“Do you want me to brush all of it back from your face?” he asked.
“Yes,” she smiled up at him. “Please.”
She turned her back to him again and leaned her head back.
He brushed her hair back from her forehead, blending it into the rest. The drier strands sprang up into little curls. Even after he had all the hair blended back from her forehead, he continued to brush.
The more he brushed, the more she leaned back, until her head pressed against his chest and he couldn’t brush anymore. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just let her hair brush against his bare chest, his heartbeat thundering against his ribs.
“Jack,” she whispered.
It was the first time she’d called him by his real name. It sent a different warmth through him. “Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t name. But it felt good. “Anytime.”
After several more minutes, Crusher eased Marta onto the pillow and pulled the blanket up over her. Then he bent to kiss her forehead. Before his lips touched her skin, she tipped her chin up. His mouth came down on hers.
For a second, he froze. Her lips were soft against his.
Her hand came up around his neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. When her tongue flicked across her lips, he opened to her and swept in, caressing her in long, sensual strokes.
When he finally came up, he stared down into her eyes. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Just don’t tell me it was a mistake,” she said. “It didn’t feel like a mistake.”
He shook his head, his lips lifting on the corner. “It wasn’t a mistake.”
She lowered her arm to rest on the blanket and sighed.
Crusher rose from the bed and retrieved the ointment and bandages. Quickly and effectively, he slathered her wound with antibiotic ointment. Anger burned deep in his heart. The woman should never have been abducted and then treated like a prisoner for Vasquez’s gain.
“You don’t have to do that.” She tried to pull her hand away.
He held on. “I want to.”
“You’re frowning,” she said.
“No man should treat a woman the way Vasquez treated you. Seeing these wounds makes me want to hurt him.”
“I’m okay. You saw to that by getting me out of there.”
He covered the sores with gauze and tape and then bound them all with a wrap. “Tomorrow, we should leave the wound open to let it scab over and heal itself.”
She nodded. “Thanks again.”
When he started to move away, she caught his hand. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, you know. This bed is big enough for both of us.”
Crusher shook his head. “No, Marta, I have to sleep on the floor.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Why?”
“Because if I sleep with you, you and I won’t get any rest.” He stared down at her, wanting so badly to lie on the bed beside her. “Go to sleep, Marta,” he said softly and dropped down onto the pallet he’d made on the floor.
The cold, hard floor.
With his hands linked behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling, counting the minutes until morning while every cell of his being wanted to climb onto the bed with Marta, the beautiful scientist. There was only one place that would lead, and he wasn’t sure he could go there and walk away unscathed when he handed her off in Miami.