Chapter 21
Palmer
Ibarely recognized myself.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked ragged and tired. The bathroom connected to my room was warm, but a shiver ran down my spine anyway. All night, sleep came in disrupted spurts, chased away by the pain in my hands or the memories of flames.
And Roman Ramsey right next to me.
A blush bloomed on my cheeks as I remembered waking up wrapped in Roman’s arms. He’d stayed the entire night in my bed, keeping watch over me and sleeping off the lingering fever. He only left to bring Hailey to school, and I felt like I could finally breathe.
I glanced at my forehead through the mirror, where Roman had kissed me.
The sensation of Roman’s lips on my brow had my stomach tumbling. It was nothing but a chaste press of his mouth, but it felt like more.
I want you.
His words whispered through my mind.
I wanted to believe him and those pretty, dangerous words. I was supposed to be keeping my guard up with Roman and Hailey, and the fact that I was failing was ever clearer. When the inevitable time came—when they didn’t need me anymore—it might crush me in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover from.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to chase away thoughts of Roman and his nice words and perfect lips.
I inspected my hands instead.
They really did hurt. Worse than yesterday. But I had some movement in my fingers. I’d managed to wipe the grime off my skin with a wet, soapy rag, but now that I’d put on fresh clothes, it was almost impossible to ignore how dirty my hair was.
It smelled like sharp, nauseating smoke and felt greasy at the roots. I had no idea how I would manage to wash it in a way that left it in decent condition.
I examined my bandages, flexing my fingers as much as I dared.
Pain shot across my skin, and I cried out softly. My palms had gotten the worst of the damage, but my fingers were still so sore.
Maybe if I was really, really careful—
A hard knock at the bathroom door made me let out a startled yelp.
“Palmer?” Roman’s voice came from the other side.
My heart skittered.
I’d been in here longer than I thought.
“You okay in there?”
I let out a slow breath. “I’m fine.”
There was a pause. “Can I come in? It’s time to change your bandages.”
I bit my lip, not at all excited about the prospect, but I couldn’t do it by myself. “Sure,” I finally said.
The door swung open, and Roman stepped inside.
The bathroom was a decent size, but with Roman’s broad, muscular frame filling the space, it suddenly felt very small.
His dark eyes traveled over me—from the top of my head down to my toes—like he was searching for anything out of place.
Then his gaze shifted toward the vanity, where my body wash, shampoo, and conditioner sat out.
He glanced back at my hands, and I grimaced at how the bandages on my fingers were damp from the cloth I’d used to clean myself.
“What have you been doing now?” Exasperation threaded through his voice.
I nibbled on my bottom lip and crossed my arms over my chest, leaving my hands sticking out awkwardly.
“I needed to wash off. I was disgusting from yesterday.” I touched the lank tendrils of hair hanging past my shoulders. “I was trying to figure out how to wash my hair, though.”
I frowned, shifting on my feet.
Roman didn’t say anything for a long moment.
He stared at my hair, but then he gave a small nod and moved without saying a word. He grabbed my shampoo and conditioner from the counter and dumped them by the tub.
He strode around the bathroom like he belonged there. He grabbed two fluffy white towels from the tall linen cabinet and carried them to the bathtub, too.
The tub was beautiful in its own right—a heavy porcelain clawfoot with Victorian-style brass fixtures. The shower head rested on a cradle above the faucet like an old-fashioned telephone receiver.
Roman folded one towel and placed it neatly on the floor in front of the tub. He folded the other as small as possible and draped it carefully over the rim.
When he finished, he turned toward me, like he was expecting me to do something.
I blinked at him, still confused.
He nodded toward the towel on the floor.
“Sit,” he commanded. “I can wash your hair.”
I bristled as chills rushed over my skin. I shook my head. “No, no, you don’t have to—”
He cut me off with a hard look. “I wasn’t asking, Palmer. Sit.”
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. Hesitantly, I stepped toward the tub, mumbling, “Now who’s the bossy one?”
He raised a brow as he watched me lower onto the folded towel, which acted like a cushion against the cold tile floor.
“If you’d simply accept the help you were offered, I wouldn’t have to be bossy,” Roman chided as he turned the faucet on.
I watched him dip his fingers into the streaming water, testing the temperature with careful precision.
“I could say the same for you,” I muttered.
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t argue.
When the water was to his liking, he lifted the ornate shower head from its cradle and flipped the small lever to redirect the flow. The shower head sputtered to life.
Roman balanced himself on the edge of the tub.
“Lean your head back,” he instructed.
I took a deep breath, brushed all my hair behind me so it fell into the basin, and leaned my neck against the soft towel he’d draped over the rim. I stared up at the ceiling, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my cardigan as much as they could without sending pain through my palms.
I flinched when the warm spray touched my scalp.
“Too hot?” Roman asked, his voice close to my ear.
“No,” I managed. “It’s good.”
Roman hummed approvingly and continued to soak my hair, moving the spray steadily. His fingers slid through the damp strands, making sure they were thoroughly wet.
I had to suppress another shiver.
The sensation of his hands in my hair felt so intimate. He wasn’t rushed or rough. He was careful.
The bathroom filled with the soft hiss of water and the thrum of my pulse rushing in my ears. His fingers combed through my hair, slower this time, untangling the knots.
“You don’t have to clench your jaw like that,” he murmured.
I hadn’t even realized I was doing it.
“I’m not,” I lied.
A quiet, low sound—almost a laugh—rumbled in his chest. “You are.”
His fingertips brushed the base of my skull as he adjusted the spray, and a tremor moved through me before I could stop it.
He stilled for a moment, but then reached for the shampoo bottle on the floor. “Close your eyes.”
I did.
I heard the soft squeeze of the bottle, then his hands returned as he worked the shampoo into my scalp.
The world narrowed to his touch and the constant sound of water.
His fingers digging into my scalp almost made a moan slip past my lips. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever washed my hair before, and it was…incredible.
My head tipped back even farther, but he cradled it in his large, steady hands. His nails gently scratched my scalp, causing tingles to spread down my spine, fanning out across my shoulders and into my chest.
Oh.
It felt so good.
The familiar scent of my tea tree shampoo filled my nose. The clean scent mixed with Roman’s muskier aroma, creating something almost intoxicating. My body finally seemed to understand that it was safe and I released a sigh, all tension leaving me with it.
“Finally,” he said, sounding pleased.
I couldn’t even open my eyes if I wanted to. Every muscle in my body had gone slack beneath his touch, melting under the slow, deliberate way he massaged my scalp and the base of my neck.
“Huh?” was all I managed to breathe.
“You finally relaxed.” His breath ghosted the shell of my ear, voice thrumming with approval. “Good girl.”
The words should have snapped me back to myself. They should have sent me scrambling to my feet and putting space between us. Instead, they heightened the pleasure of his touch.
It was like I was caught in something heavy and impossible to fight. Some kind of spell. His fingers were damn magic.
“This is…” I tried, my voice thin and wavering. I was on the verge of panting, struggling to form coherent thoughts. The sensations he was drawing from my skin were overwhelming in the best possible way. “I—it’s nice. No one’s ever…done this for me before.”
His hands froze.
The sudden absence of movement made something desperate rise in my chest, and I nearly whimpered.
Thankfully, he started again—slower this time, almost hesitant.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said.
I hummed. “It feels so good.”
The words came out deep and breathy. I didn’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed.
His fingers pressed a little firmer into my scalp, kneading gently, and I sank further into it. My teeth caught my lower lip as another wave of tingling rolled over me.
If heaven existed, it might feel like this—warm water, steady hands, and the sense that someone was taking care of me without asking for anything in return.