clothing—for both men and women. Crisis averted.
I pull out two large T-shirts and a pair of men’s pajama pants. There are no underthings in the trunk, but this will do for now. Once Shelby’s feeling better , I can probably get her to hand wash the laundry. I bring her one of the T-shirts, an old, faded football shirt from an era when Saints fans wore bags on their heads.
“Here,” I say and hand her the clothing, then turn around like the good officer that I am.
I hear grumbling and then an exasperated sigh, then the telltale rustling of movement. The fact that the moonlight shining off the window across the cabin gives me a perfect view of her small frame means nothing. Still, I fight the urge to keep my eyes open as she pulls her drenched shirt over her head. I catch barely a glimpse of a black bra before I clamp my eyes shut. The last thing I need is to see her changing and then get slapped with a sexual assault rap because I did something inappropriate shortly thereafter.
“Um. I don’t have any pants,” she says. I open my eyes and turn around. She’s swimming in the large men’s shirt, but damned if she doesn’t look good. Her hands tug nervously at the shirt’s hem.
“Your wound needs to breathe,” I practically cough out.
“You don’t look so good, Officer.”
I look down at her . Her hair is a mess, and there’s sleep in the corner of her eye. Her eyes blink and she lets out a yawn, but the remnants of a smile are left behind. The way she’s looking at me, I can’t quite make out if she can tell that I’m attracted to her, or if she’s not just playing dumb and she genuinely doesn’t have a clue. I give her a reassuring smile and tell myself that I’m a competent officer of the law.
I turn around and stride to the couch, retrieving the extra blanket. Returning to the bed , I tuck Shelby in as best I can and then lay the extra blanket on top of her wrapped form. I try to avoid her eyes as best I can while I make sure she’s settled in.
“Thank you,” she says, her teeth chattering.
“You’re still cold?” I ask.
She nods her head, teeth still noisily clinking against one another. Shit. Though I know the idea of crawling into bed with this woman and keeping her warm is a bad one, my ability to deny myself wanes , and I kick my shoes away and yank off my socks. I look down at my bare chest and cargo shorts. The shorts have droplets of blood on them, and I decide they’re not as comfortable as I’d like anyway. Without another thought, I grab the pair of sleep pants and go into the bathroom. I close the door and change, purposefully choosing not to put on one of the available T-shirts from the trunk. I’m clearly a fucking glutton for punishment, because despite knowing how bad this could get for me, I still want Shelby to keep appreciating my body the way she has been.
Before leaving the bathroom, I use the bar soap on the sink to clean myself up a little. On my way out, I grab the gun from the couch and bring it over to the empty side of the bed, tucking it between the mattresses. I lift the blankets and carefully slide in. Shelby’s eyes dance sleepily as she watches me get settled.
“Body heat should help,” I say, trying to convince myself that’s what crawling into this bed is about and not just some fucked -up ploy to get closer to this woman.
When I reach over to her side of the bed, I find the sheets are damp. No wonder she’s still cold. I suddenly feel like the biggest moron on the planet. Of course she’d still be freezing. I left her in the same spot.
As gently as I can, I reach over and encourage her to sit up. When she does, I reposition myself and slowly drag her body toward mine. She catches on pretty fast and facilitates the move by using her healthy leg to help move her injured one. Barely a few whimpers sound from her throat, and thankfully she doesn’t cry out. I pull her the last of the way and then settle her back against the front of my
I pull out two large T-shirts and a pair of men’s pajama pants. There are no underthings in the trunk, but this will do for now. Once Shelby’s feeling better , I can probably get her to hand wash the laundry. I bring her one of the T-shirts, an old, faded football shirt from an era when Saints fans wore bags on their heads.
“Here,” I say and hand her the clothing, then turn around like the good officer that I am.
I hear grumbling and then an exasperated sigh, then the telltale rustling of movement. The fact that the moonlight shining off the window across the cabin gives me a perfect view of her small frame means nothing. Still, I fight the urge to keep my eyes open as she pulls her drenched shirt over her head. I catch barely a glimpse of a black bra before I clamp my eyes shut. The last thing I need is to see her changing and then get slapped with a sexual assault rap because I did something inappropriate shortly thereafter.
“Um. I don’t have any pants,” she says. I open my eyes and turn around. She’s swimming in the large men’s shirt, but damned if she doesn’t look good. Her hands tug nervously at the shirt’s hem.
“Your wound needs to breathe,” I practically cough out.
“You don’t look so good, Officer.”
I look down at her . Her hair is a mess, and there’s sleep in the corner of her eye. Her eyes blink and she lets out a yawn, but the remnants of a smile are left behind. The way she’s looking at me, I can’t quite make out if she can tell that I’m attracted to her, or if she’s not just playing dumb and she genuinely doesn’t have a clue. I give her a reassuring smile and tell myself that I’m a competent officer of the law.
I turn around and stride to the couch, retrieving the extra blanket. Returning to the bed , I tuck Shelby in as best I can and then lay the extra blanket on top of her wrapped form. I try to avoid her eyes as best I can while I make sure she’s settled in.
“Thank you,” she says, her teeth chattering.
“You’re still cold?” I ask.
She nods her head, teeth still noisily clinking against one another. Shit. Though I know the idea of crawling into bed with this woman and keeping her warm is a bad one, my ability to deny myself wanes , and I kick my shoes away and yank off my socks. I look down at my bare chest and cargo shorts. The shorts have droplets of blood on them, and I decide they’re not as comfortable as I’d like anyway. Without another thought, I grab the pair of sleep pants and go into the bathroom. I close the door and change, purposefully choosing not to put on one of the available T-shirts from the trunk. I’m clearly a fucking glutton for punishment, because despite knowing how bad this could get for me, I still want Shelby to keep appreciating my body the way she has been.
Before leaving the bathroom, I use the bar soap on the sink to clean myself up a little. On my way out, I grab the gun from the couch and bring it over to the empty side of the bed, tucking it between the mattresses. I lift the blankets and carefully slide in. Shelby’s eyes dance sleepily as she watches me get settled.
“Body heat should help,” I say, trying to convince myself that’s what crawling into this bed is about and not just some fucked -up ploy to get closer to this woman.
When I reach over to her side of the bed, I find the sheets are damp. No wonder she’s still cold. I suddenly feel like the biggest moron on the planet. Of course she’d still be freezing. I left her in the same spot.
As gently as I can, I reach over and encourage her to sit up. When she does, I reposition myself and slowly drag her body toward mine. She catches on pretty fast and facilitates the move by using her healthy leg to help move her injured one. Barely a few whimpers sound from her throat, and thankfully she doesn’t cry out. I pull her the last of the way and then settle her back against the front of my
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