shyness at this point in a crisis.
His hand touched her shoulder and he felt her sharp intake of breath under his touch. He started moving his hands, circulating the soap. Her skin was lightly tanned, with white bits in all the right places. And smooth. There was nothing like being naked in the shower with a woman you barely knew. It kind of cut through all the crap.
His hand felt something else and she flinched. He blinked. Steam was circulating around them. What was that bump in her skin?
It didn’t really matter. But the doctor in him—or the man in him—was curious enough to look.
So he did. This time it was his turn to suck in a breath. His fingers moved over the mark—over the scar on her skin. This was no neat surgical scar, this was a rough-edged, deep penetrating wound. A stab wound.
Why would a girl like Grace Barclay have a stab wound? She spun round in the shower. His eyes went automatically to her breasts. He couldn’t help it. They were right in front of him. Crying out to be touched. Bigger than he’d noticed, matching the rest of her soft curves.
She could see exactly where he was looking. She folded her arms across her breasts and turned back round.
Caught. Like a kid with his hand in the candy jar. This was getting more interesting by the minute.
* * *
Grace was in shock. Naked in a shower with Donovan Reid shock. She couldn’t stop her slightly snarky responses. It was as if her automatic defence mechanisms had dropped into place. She couldn’t actually believe this was happening.
Because this wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.
Any fantasies about Donovan Reid having his hands on her body in a shower hadn’t been anything like this. Not even close.
No. In those scenarios he’d had her pinned up against a nice glass door with lots of raspberry-smelling bubbles winding their way between their two bodies.
It hadn’t resembled anything like this. And for a dream this was pretty awful.
Surely her imagination knew better than to give her a horrible work-related incident?
The hands streaking up and down her back didn’t feel sensual, didn’t feel gentle. The hands massaging her hair weren’t doing it with loving care. They had a purpose. A function.
She cringed as his hands touched her neck and she squeezed her eyes shut. Mr Washboard Abs had a prime view of her big backside and occasionally dimpled thighs right now. Bet none of his Amazonian girlfriends looked like this in the shower. As if they’d just had a battle between a cupcake and a candy bar.
Then they moved. His fingers. And she could almost hear his intake of breath over the pummelling water stream. She couldn’t help the natural flinch of her shoulder, pulling her scar away from his fingers. It was inbuilt into her. The permanent reminder of that hideous night.
It didn’t matter that this was far removed from that situation. Just the touch of his fingers next to her skin sent her spinning back there. Back to a dark night and an unlit parking lot. The unknown assailant and the struggle for the bag that had been on her shoulder. Why hadn’t he just cut the strap? Why did he have to stab her?
Her heart fluttered in her chest. Just what she needed. A run of SVT in the shower with Donovan Reid. Any minute now she’d hit the floor and there would a whole different emergency going on.
She breathed slowly. Controlled breaths. In through her nose and out through her mouth in a long steady stream. The rapid heart rhythm—super ventricular tachycardia—had only occurred a few times since her attack and was always stress induced. Her two fingers reached up to the side of her neck and massaged gently for a few seconds. It didn’t take long.
Her heart rate settled, her breathing eased. The tight feeling in her throat released.
Phew. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds. She had her back to Donovan so he couldn’t see her and wouldn’t have noticed her manoeuvre.
But he had noticed her scar.
And now she was
His hand touched her shoulder and he felt her sharp intake of breath under his touch. He started moving his hands, circulating the soap. Her skin was lightly tanned, with white bits in all the right places. And smooth. There was nothing like being naked in the shower with a woman you barely knew. It kind of cut through all the crap.
His hand felt something else and she flinched. He blinked. Steam was circulating around them. What was that bump in her skin?
It didn’t really matter. But the doctor in him—or the man in him—was curious enough to look.
So he did. This time it was his turn to suck in a breath. His fingers moved over the mark—over the scar on her skin. This was no neat surgical scar, this was a rough-edged, deep penetrating wound. A stab wound.
Why would a girl like Grace Barclay have a stab wound? She spun round in the shower. His eyes went automatically to her breasts. He couldn’t help it. They were right in front of him. Crying out to be touched. Bigger than he’d noticed, matching the rest of her soft curves.
She could see exactly where he was looking. She folded her arms across her breasts and turned back round.
Caught. Like a kid with his hand in the candy jar. This was getting more interesting by the minute.
* * *
Grace was in shock. Naked in a shower with Donovan Reid shock. She couldn’t stop her slightly snarky responses. It was as if her automatic defence mechanisms had dropped into place. She couldn’t actually believe this was happening.
Because this wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.
Any fantasies about Donovan Reid having his hands on her body in a shower hadn’t been anything like this. Not even close.
No. In those scenarios he’d had her pinned up against a nice glass door with lots of raspberry-smelling bubbles winding their way between their two bodies.
It hadn’t resembled anything like this. And for a dream this was pretty awful.
Surely her imagination knew better than to give her a horrible work-related incident?
The hands streaking up and down her back didn’t feel sensual, didn’t feel gentle. The hands massaging her hair weren’t doing it with loving care. They had a purpose. A function.
She cringed as his hands touched her neck and she squeezed her eyes shut. Mr Washboard Abs had a prime view of her big backside and occasionally dimpled thighs right now. Bet none of his Amazonian girlfriends looked like this in the shower. As if they’d just had a battle between a cupcake and a candy bar.
Then they moved. His fingers. And she could almost hear his intake of breath over the pummelling water stream. She couldn’t help the natural flinch of her shoulder, pulling her scar away from his fingers. It was inbuilt into her. The permanent reminder of that hideous night.
It didn’t matter that this was far removed from that situation. Just the touch of his fingers next to her skin sent her spinning back there. Back to a dark night and an unlit parking lot. The unknown assailant and the struggle for the bag that had been on her shoulder. Why hadn’t he just cut the strap? Why did he have to stab her?
Her heart fluttered in her chest. Just what she needed. A run of SVT in the shower with Donovan Reid. Any minute now she’d hit the floor and there would a whole different emergency going on.
She breathed slowly. Controlled breaths. In through her nose and out through her mouth in a long steady stream. The rapid heart rhythm—super ventricular tachycardia—had only occurred a few times since her attack and was always stress induced. Her two fingers reached up to the side of her neck and massaged gently for a few seconds. It didn’t take long.
Her heart rate settled, her breathing eased. The tight feeling in her throat released.
Phew. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds. She had her back to Donovan so he couldn’t see her and wouldn’t have noticed her manoeuvre.
But he had noticed her scar.
And now she was
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