Holding Strong. Lori FosterЧитать онлайн книгу.
had a lot to think about—later.
Right now, he only wanted to see Cherry.
To his surprise, when he opened the hotel room door, he found the bed empty. As he slowly let the door shut, he heard the shower running. Heat expanded and his body grew taut as he set down his packages...and headed for the bathroom.
* * *
SHE’D STRUGGLED TO pin up her hair, to start the shower, to stand under the spray and wash from head to toe. Now slumped against the tiled wall, Cherry realized her mistake. Never in her entire life had she been so drained. Even staying upright seemed to take an incredible amount of energy—energy that had quickly faded away.
Home, alone, she wouldn’t have bothered.
But it was bad enough to be so pathetically sick with Denver. She wouldn’t be grungy, too. Besides, she honestly believed she’d feel better once she was clean.
Instead, she wasn’t sure she could muster up the strength to turn off the taps, much less get dry, dressed and back in the bed.
She literally wanted to sink down to the tub and go back to sleep, even with the water raining down on her. If she knew for certain she wouldn’t run out of warm water or drown herself, she might’ve done just that.
In fact, it was still a toss-up.
That thought had barely cleared her brain before the shower curtain opened and Denver stood there, his smoldering gaze going all over her. He appeared stern, and a little turned on.
A unique combo.
“Damn, girl, what do you think you’re doing out of bed?”
A lump of misery caught in her throat. “I was... I can’t...” She braced a hand on the shower wall and said simply, “Big mistake.”
He reached in and turned off the water. Grabbing up a big white towel, he wrapped it around her and, uncaring if he got wet, lifted her out against him. One-handed, he flipped down the toilet lid and lowered her to sit.
“Denver...”
“Hush. I’ll take care of it.” Going to one knee, he dried her calves, up her legs, over her belly.
She held herself as upright as possible, completely mortified, all too aware of where and how he touched her. For him it seemed so impersonal; for her it was as personal as it could get.
When his gaze met hers, he said, “Breathe, girl. Slow and easy.”
The husky timbre of his voice made her want to melt. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
“You should have waited for me.” More gently, he dried her breasts, and as the soft terry towel moved over her nipples, she swallowed hard. The cooler air after her shower made her shiver—and made her nipples draw tight.
“Almost done,” he told her, and he sounded as strained as she felt. Finally giving up on her breasts, he briskly dried her shoulders and gently patted the towel to her face. “Up you go.” He drew her to her feet and supported her against his body.
So warm. Closing her eyes, Cherry honestly thought she could doze off just like that, with him holding her so carefully.
After he dried her shoulders and the small of her back, he spent an inordinate amount of time on her bottom, looking over her shoulder until she said sleepily, “Denver.”
He kissed her neck, wrapped the towel around her and scooped her up. She knew he was strong; anyone could look at him and see that. But he held her with such ease it still impressed her and made her feel like the quintessential “little lady.”
As he strode to the bed, he said, “I’m glad you didn’t try washing your hair.”
Resting her cheek against his hard shoulder, one hand over his heartbeat, she admitted, “I couldn’t.”
He paused by the bed with her still comfortably in his arms. “Are you feeling any better at all?” His mouth brushed her temple. “You don’t feel as feverish.”
Around a yawn, she whispered, “That’s why I thought I could shower.” But halfway through she’d known it was a very bad idea.
“I’m sorry I took so long.” He tilted her back a little to look at her. “Do you have anything to wear?”
With the way he held her, the towel barely kept her concealed. Then she noticed Denver glancing at the dresser mirror beyond and when she looked... Oh God. She squirmed to get free.
He only tightened his hold. “Settle down.”
“Stop looking at me!”
He gave one more long perusal at the mirror. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen.”
The image in the mirror showed her legs tucked up over his arm, the loose towel hanging well beneath her backside, and a whole lot of nakedness in between. He could literally see from back of the thighs to the middle of her back.
Her heart hurt in her chest and red-hot humiliation scalded her. “Denver...”
He hugged her—and turned so that her behind was no longer aimed at the mirror, but still didn’t put her down. “You have no reason to be embarrassed. I like looking at you.”
“Not like that!”
“Especially like that.” He nuzzled against her. “I want to see every part of you.”
Tucking her burning face against his throat, she groaned, “This is so awful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said, low and rough near her ear.
That was not a beautiful shot, but she didn’t have the will to debate it with him right now. “My shirt...” She glanced at the same shirt she’d removed before getting in the shower. It was now badly rumpled, but anything would be better than staying so vulnerable.
Denver continued to study her face. “One day soon, you’ll show me everything I want to see.”
Ready to die of embarrassment and half afraid he was right, she said nothing.
He took in her expression, then turned his head to eye her discarded shirt on the dresser. “I brought a few extras if you want one of mine instead.” His smile went crooked. “Much as I enjoy seeing you, it’ll probably be better for my sanity if you don’t stay naked.”
“I wouldn’t!”
He grunted. “Left on your own, we both know you wouldn’t have had the grit to worry about it.”
True enough. “Somehow,” she muttered, “I’d have figured it out.”
“Maybe.” After lowering her to the bed, he pulled away the towel and his attention moved over her in minute detail again. “Now you don’t have to.” He kissed her forehead, her shoulder, and the top of one breast before going to his bag and removing a black SBC T-shirt.
Hating her own weakness, Cherry managed to sit back up before he got to her, but she let him drop the shirt over her head and even tug her arms through the short sleeves.
Wearing an indulgent, very male smile, he said, “Poor baby. You’re really shot, aren’t you?” He pulled the sheet over her lap and propped the bed pillows behind her.
“I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.” He pulled the band from her hair and ran his fingers through it to smooth it out. “I told you there’s something going around. I’ve seen a few fighters go down for the count.”
And she wasn’t a big, muscled, extremely fit fighter. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. You just need to take it easy a few days.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Think you can stay awake long enough to take some medicine and get down some fluids?”
“Yes.”