Torch (Take It Off #1)(8)
Author: Cambria Hebert

He brought me clothes. It was a small gesture, but it proved that he thought about me even after he left this room. “Thank you.” I smiled. “I really wasn’t looking forward to putting on those smelly boxers.”

He grinned. “The nurses out in the hallway said you were all ready to go.”

I pushed back the covers and swung my legs over the bed. “Yes, the doctor cleared me to leave. I’ll just get dressed and then we can go.”

His warm hand wrapped around my upper arm and I climbed out of the bed. “Feeling okay?” The deep timber of his voice made tiny shivers race over my nerve endings.

I could only nod, not trusting my voice when he was this close to me. Thankfully, he released my arm and reached into the bag to pull out a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. “Like I said, it’s pretty basic stuff.”

“It’s perfect,” I replied, looking over the soft-looking materials. I don’t know why, but emotion clogged my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done anything for me. I hadn’t even gotten a gift in years. And even though the clothes were necessities and not really a gift, I doubted he would ever know how much it meant to me.

I cleared my throat and looked up at him. “I’ll just get dressed and meet you in the hall.”

He nodded. “I’ll have the nurse ready your chariot.”

“My chariot?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I thought that sounded better than wheelchair.”

I grinned. “Totally better.”

Getting dressed proved more difficult than I imagined. My body was stiff and sore. My muscles groaned at just about every move I made, and the bruise on my shoulder screamed at me that it wasn’t nearly healed enough to lift my arms and put on a T-shirt.

I tossed down the white cotton and picked up the jeans. Propping myself against the bed, I very slowly stuffed my feet into the pants. Every time the rough material brushed against the sensitive skin of my hands, I winced, but I continued on. I wasn’t about to board my chariot with my bum flapping in the wind.

I must have taken a lot longer than I thought because Holt came back through the door a few minutes later. He stopped short when he saw me still not dressed and standing beside the bed.

“I seem to be having some trouble,” I admitted.

He strode into the room, his boots moving soundlessly over the cold tile floor. “I should have gotten something easier to put on. I didn’t think about the use of your hands being so limited.”

I snorted. “Are you kidding? You don’t even have to be here right now. This isn’t your fault.”

He kneeled down in front of me, gently brushing away my arms and grasping the jeans by the waist. He moved slow, inching the jeans up my legs. When they brushed my thighs, he rose upward, his face slowly sliding up the front of me until they met mine. My body jerked slightly when his knuckles brushed against the smooth silkiness of my thigh.

“Sorry,” he rasped, his voice a rough whisper as he continued to tug the fabric up around my waist. The jeans were low riders, the waistband skimming my hipbones and dipping below my belly button.

His nimble fingers slid along the top edge, brushing against the fabric and my flat stomach (which was jumping with excitement) until he stopped in the center, just inches above the most feminine place on my body, and gently fastened the button. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and his eyes seemed heavy-lidded when he reached for the zipper and slowly, achingly slid it upward.

My knees actually started to shake.

What the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t even act like this when I discovered that boys existed and didn’t actually have cooties like I thought. I didn’t even act like this when the most popular guy in school smiled at me from across the hallway and winked before turning around to hang with his buddies.

Of course, I wasn’t fifteen now. And the man standing before me, the man with his touch lingering on my stomach, was not a boy. He was all man. A living, breathing total package.

When his pointer finger trailed toward my belly button, I jumped and stepped back. I was so close to the bed that my legs folded and I ended up falling onto the mattress. My shoulder screamed in protest, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out.

“I—uh…” he said, stumbling over his words, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

I pushed up onto one elbow. “Sorry for feeling me up?” I finished for him.

He grinned. “That wasn’t feeling you up. When I feel you up, you’ll know it.”

When he feels me up…

I didn’t know what to make of that statement, so I stuck my foot in his face. “I need my shoes.”

He yanked off the tags from a pair black flip-flops. In the center of the straps was a cluster of sparkly gems. They were pretty, and he slid them onto my feet.

He picked up my shirt and looked at me.

I wasn’t wearing a bra.

After my reaction to him pulling my pants up underneath my hospital gown, I was positive if I took off this gown I would embarrass myself. Besides, I didn’t know him. I wasn’t about to go Girls Gone Wild and flash him.

“I’ll just wear this.”

He frowned. “Are you in that much pain?”

I shook my head. “I’m just sore from lying in this bed for so long. And my shoulder is a little banged up from falling.”

“You fell?”

I nodded. “In the chair. I was trying to stand and I knocked myself over.”

His eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds. “I wish I had gotten there sooner.”

Something inside me softened at the regret in his tone. “I think your timing was perfect.” I stood up and gave him a playful shove backward. “But I could have done without being thrown in the pool.”

“You sank really fast.”

“Ha-ha.” I gathered up my items, which consisted of my ruined pajamas and the shirt he brought me, shoved it all in the bag he brought, and then headed to the door. I tried to ignore the draft at my back and the way the oversized gown flapped in the wind.

He made a sound in the back of his throat and I turned, looking over my shoulder at him. “What?”

He was stripping off the slate-colored button-up he was wearing over a navy-blue T-shirt with the letters WFD (Wilmington Fire Department) on the front. “You can’t wear that.”

“I’m covered,” I protested.

“Barely,” he muttered and came closer, holding the button-up out like it was a coat and we were at some fancy event where the gentleman always helped the ladies with their evening attire.