by Sandy James
“Figured.” Chelsea put the glass on the end table before reaching down and slowly lowering the footrest. “Here.” She held out her hand.
Ethan grasped it and allowed her to help him up. He was sure every joint in his body popped before he was able to get on his feet.
“Can you make it to the bathroom?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“Then let me get the bath started.” Grabbing the Epsom salts, she rushed ahead of him and disappeared into the master bedroom.
By the time he lumbered his way through the hallway and into his room, the sound of running water greeted him. The closer he got, the more he relished the idea of sitting in that old claw-foot tub and letting the heat soothe away his aches and pains.
As he reached for the buttons on his flannel shirt, she was suddenly there, brushing his hands away and unbuttoning his shirt. “Let me.” Her voice was husky and low as her nimble fingers worked their way down until she tugged at the shirttail tucked inside his jeans.
Although he was pretty sure he could manage to undress himself, Ethan let her have her way. Despite how bad he felt, his reaction to her nearness and that fact she was taking off his clothes was swift. She smelled of clean skin and shampoo and he wanted her. Surely she’d notice.
As she nibbled on her bottom lip, she worked on his belt buckle. To his disappointment, she moved back after that task was complete. “I should go check the water. Why don’t you finish up?” On her way back into the bathroom, she grabbed his robe, brought it to him, and draped it over his shoulder. “Put this on, or you’ll never make it into that bath.”
“Why?” he asked as she hustled away.
No reply, which Ethan found horribly disappointing. On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly at his best, and when he made love to her, he wanted to firing on all cylinders.
So he obeyed her and finished undressing before donning his robe.
* * *
Chelsea ran her hand through the steaming water. It was hot enough to help Ethan relax, but not hot enough to burn him. Before pulling her arm out, she scrunched her sleeve up to reached deep and stir around the last of the Epsom salts that hadn’t quite dissolved.
After watching the fall he took from Thunder, she’d known he’d be hurting something fierce by the time their date rolled around. Instead of holding him to his promise, she’d put on the brunette wig and run out for a few supplies so that Ethan could get some TLC and still have a nice dinner.
She’d never wanted to take care of a guy the way she wanted to help Ethan. The few men that had come and gone from her life never touched her heart in a way that brought out her softer side. All she’d been able to think about all day was how much she wanted to ease his pain, to comfort and care for him. She suddenly understood why her mother had insisted on doing so many things for her father herself instead of leaving the tasks to his nurses.
Ethan needed her, and she wasn’t about to bear any guilt for not being there for him.
He was even more pitiful looking than she’d expected by the time she got to his house. The lines on his face were testament to how much he hurt. All she wanted to do was take that pain away.
Ethan appeared in the bathroom door, wearing the robe she wished she hadn’t given him. Ever since she realized he wanted her as much as she wanted him, she’d been plagued with the desire to see if that body that had held her so tightly was a muscular as it felt. As she’d undressed him, she couldn’t ignore the hard ridge pressed against the front of his pants. She’d had the nearly overwhelming urge to drop to her knees, free that erection, and lick it. Then she’d drag him to his bed and pounce on him.
Now was the wrong time, though. He needed to recover, and she needed a little more time to be sure she wasn’t diving headfirst into another lousy relationship. God knew she hadn’t made the best choices where her personal life was concerned. In her world, it was so damned hard to figure out whether a guy liked her for who she was rather than for what she was. So far, she’d guessed wrong every single time.
With Ethan, Chelsea had hopes that things would be different this time. He didn’t covet her celebrity; he hated it. No wonder after all he’d told her about his teenaged foray into recording and the story of his parents’ deaths. What she was discovering was that his distaste of her celebrity status was every bit as frustrating as someone who only wanted her because she was Chelsea Harris.
Would she ever find anything approaching happiness, let alone love?
Shaking her head at her own uncharacteristic melancholy, she let her eyes rake Ethan from head to toe. A smile bowed her lips. The man was delicious to look at, and the anticipation of seeing under his robe gave her a bit of a thrill, especially since he was pitching a rather nice tent that threatened to part the front. “Bath’s ready. Why don’t you get in and have a nice, long soak?”
“Join me?”
“Tempting,” she said, followed by a contented hum. “But not today, I think.”
“What’s for supper?”
The fact he hadn’t argued with her was enough to tell her she’d made the right call. He wasn’t ready for anything physical tonight. “Why, tamales of course! Wasn’t that what you promised me?”
A smile was her reply.
“Need help getting in the tub?” she asked as she got to her feet and headed to the door.
“No, but you could stay and wash my back.” The grin he gave her sent heat straight to her core. “And then you could wash my front.”
If only that smile hadn’t been followed by a grimace when he bent to feel the water temperature.
“I’ll take a rain check on that.”
“Promise?”
“Oh yeah, I promise.”
* * *
By the time Ethan got out of the tub, dried off, and got his clothes on, he was exhausted. The way his stomach rumbled when the smell of Chelsea’s cooking hit his nostrils made him believe he might just have enough energy to eat before he was down for the count.
He tried to keep from groaning as he made his way to the kitchen. Chelsea had done so much to help ease his pain, and he didn’t want her thinking her efforts had been ineffective. The bath had been heaven. The ibuprofen had taken a little of the edge off. And if she rubbed his back and shoulders with the Instant Heat like she said she would, he’d be able to sleep until the worst was over.
All this over proving to her exactly how macho you are, his conscience taunted.
Fuck off, Ethan replied.
Chelsea pulled the stuffed corn husks from the steamer. “Good timing. Dinner’s ready.”
Since Ethan considered himself a pretty good chef, he started to tease her about skills. “I don’t suppose you remembered the chile sauce. They’ll be boring without it. I would never forget it.” He winked.
Her lopsided grin showed that she was on to his game. “Good thing I brought everything I needed with me then.” She nodded at some discarded chile pods in a bowl. “Even added onion and garlic.”
“Any sides, or were the tamales difficult enough for you?”
“Stop mocking me and sit down, Ethan. Let me get the rest of this on the table.” She put the oven mitts aside. “I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
She was right; he was pleasantly surprised. Dinner consisted of expertly cooked tamales, refried beans, and Spanish rice. She even made cinnamon-coated churros for dessert. He caught himself looking around for take-out containers from some ritzy place where she could have grabbed everything on her way over. Instead, he saw the discarded plastic wrap and containers of the ingredients she’d used to prepare him a meal he’d be hard-pressed to duplicate.
How long had he soaked in that tub?
Long enough his skin had pruned and the water had been chilly.
Conversation through dinner was light, and he enjoyed the easy way they found many different things to talk about. He’d never been that comfortable in a woman’s company before, especially one he desired as much as he wanted her.
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“That was an amazing meal, Chelsea,” he said before he set his napkin aside.
“Considering what Savannah told me about how well you cook, I’ll take that as the highest compliment.” She picked up her empty plate and rose to her feet. “You go park it in your recliner and let me handle cleanup. When I’m done, I’ll rub some of that goop on you and we can watch some TV.”
“Let me help.”
“Nope. Go find us something good to watch. I’ll spring for pay-per-view if there’s a good movie and you’re a cheapskate.” She favored him with a sexy wink. “Look for something from Marvel. I’m a sucker for superheroes.”
Instead of sitting in his chair, Ethan grabbed the remotes and dropped onto the sofa. As stiff as he was getting, he figured he’d just sleep there tonight anyway. Getting up again was about as appealing as facing a bunch of his parents’ fans.
Thankfully, the latest Marvel movie was available, so he ordered it, laid his head back against the cushions, and waited for Chelsea to join him. Although he felt guilty for letting her cook and do the dishes, he vowed he’d return the favor just as soon as he was human again.
* * *
Chelsea smiled when she found Ethan sound asleep on the couch. A glance to the television showed a great movie waiting, but she wouldn’t wake him to watch it. When a yawn slipped out, she realized she was every bit as tired.
She sat next to him and put the jar of Instant Heat on her lap. Then she went about unbuttoning his shirt. He didn’t wake up until she pulled the two sides open, revealing a chest with the perfect amount of light brown hair.
“Are you taking advantage of me while I’m incapacitated?” he asked, his voice drowsy.
“I’m putting this heat rub on you to help you sleep.”
“I was sleeping just fine,” he pointed out.
“This will keep you from getting so stiff you can’t move in the morning.”
“You rub that on me, I guarantee I’ll be stiff.”
She chuckled, opened the jar, and scooped up some of the minty-smelling balm with her fingers. “How about you quit sweet-talking me, take that shirt the rest of the way off, and turn around so I can do your back?” When he obliged her, a gasp slipped out when she saw the bruises already forming on his shoulders and back. “Thunder got the best of you today.”
He huffed out a breath. “I rode him, I’ll remind you.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have bruises from head to toe.”
Chelsea let her hands glide slowly over his broad back, lingering on his muscled shoulders and arms. The man was about as close to perfect as any she’d ever known. When her fingers and palms grew warm, she ended her little game and went to wash the Instant Heat off before she was stuck with burning hands the rest of the night.
By the time she got back to the couch, he’d gotten his shirt back on and looked ready to fall asleep again at any moment. She took her place on his right, propped her feet on the coffee table, and patted her lap. “Put your head down, honey.”
The wary glance he gave her before obeying raised her radar a notch.
“I promise I won’t bite, Ethan.”
He finally obeyed, moving slowly until he was curled up and resting his cheek against her thighs. A small contented sigh slipped from him when she began to comb her fingers through his hair.
“I could get used to this,” he said.
Since she couldn’t see his face, Chelsea had a hard time reading his emotion. His tone gave nothing away. “Get used to what?”
“Having someone do stuff for me. You know, take care of me.”
“I’m sure your mother babied you when you were sick. That’s what moms do.”
“My mom was always on the road when I was little,” Ethan said matter-of-factly.
She knit her brows. “Who watched after you?”
“The staff, I suppose. I kinda ran wild.”
“You didn’t go on the road with your parents?”
“Only a few times. They were in their element performing. They didn’t want some brat chasing after them. Or so dad used to say…”
“You didn’t have a nanny or anything?” she asked, growing angrier by the moment.
“Nah,” he replied, his voice flat. “The housekeeper got my food and stuff. Then I hung around Joe a lot as I got older.”
The more he told her, the more Chelsea disliked Dottie and Crawfish Walker. She thought about Ethan as a small boy, having a sore throat and runny nose with no one to give him medicine or wipe his nose. When kids were sick, they needed coddling and hugs and tons of love. Who kissed his booboos or chased the monsters out of his closet when he was afraid? She was near tears over what his childhood must have been like.
No wonder Ethan could be as frosty as a January morning. He hadn’t known love growing up.
“This is nice,” he said, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Shh,” she said, stroking his hair. “Get some rest. I’ll take good care of you.”
Always.
* * *
Ethan blinked a few times, not sure what time it was. The room was dark, but he didn’t recall turning the TV off.
Then he remembered the evening. He was still sleeping on Chelsea’s lap, although she’d somehow managed to get him covered with the afghan Savannah’s mother had made for his couch.
Gently lifting his head, he saw that Chelsea was asleep. She’d be so worried about him getting stiff by sleeping sitting up, yet she seemed to have no care at all about whether she suffered the same fate.
All because of him, she’d gone to great effort. The bath. The dinner. The cleanup. Even the pampering. None of which in any way was she required to do. She owed him nothing but gave everything.
A warm feeling wrapped around his heart as he lay his head back down. He wasn’t teasing when he said he could get used to the attention. No one had ever gone to that much trouble for him. Not even Joe, although he cared in that gruff way of his.
Chelsea cared. A lot.
That thought helped Ethan relax and drift back into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
The smell of coffee brewing woke Chelsea. She instinctively reached for the night table where she always kept her phone before she remembered she wasn’t at home.
Pushing up on her elbow, she caught the afghan that had been draped over her before it slid to the floor. She didn’t remember lying down, which probably happened whenever Ethan got up. She didn’t remember him covering her, either.
A quick look around revealed no clock, and she wasn’t wearing a watch. Light streamed through the windows, so it wasn’t early.
How long had she slept?
“Crap.” She was supposed to meet Chuck Austin at Brad’s house this afternoon so they could lay down the first track of the charity album. It was still surprising that Brad was so willing to do so much work on her behalf. The time factor alone should’ve made him withdraw his offer. He not only had Savannah and her daughter in his life, he also had his composing and, of course, Words & Music.
Then he’d surprised her once again and told her he was writing a new song for her to debut on the album. When he’d called and asked her a series of questions about her father, she’d been curious about his purpose. Brad had grinned and told her that her father deserved a special tribute.
The title he’d given the song was “Through Daddy’s Eyes,” and the moment he revealed that fact, Chelsea had burst into tear—so had her mother when Chelsea had told her about the song. Recording the new song wouldn’t be easy, but she vowed to control her tumultuous emotions and make it the best she’d ever sung.
“You’re up,” Ethan said, coming into the room while holding two cups of something steamy that she desperately hoped was coffee. “One packet of the pink stuff, right?”
“Yes, thank you. What time is it anyway?” The demand was in her voice, and she mentally scolded herself for talking to Ethan as though he were her assistant. Speaking of assistants, Addie was probably frantic. Che
lsea had never been out of touch this long. They talked a bazillion times a day. “Where’s my phone?”
“And a fine good morning to you too, buttercup.” Ethan held out one of the cups. “Coffee first; questions after.”
The warm cup felt good in her chilly hands. The temperature had gotten considerably cooler at night, and her hands always ached when it was cold. “Thank you.” After a few sips, she said, “I need to get moving soon. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
“Big plans?” he asked, moving to the kitchen as she followed.
“Chuck Austin and I are recording our song.”
“Damn, that’s right,” Ethan said. “Brad asked me to babysit Words and Music this afternoon.” He leaned against the counter, sipped his coffee, and stared at her over the rim of the cup. “I’ll get Russ to pinch hit for me.”
“Why? Are you still too sore to work?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped.
The topic of his injuries was clearly verboten. “Why can’t you go to the restaurant?”
“You’re recording.”
“So?”
He glared at her as if she’d just asked a ridiculous question. “With Chuck.”
“Again…so?”
The last time she’d seen the perturbed look he was shooting her now, he’d walked away from the bar to let her fend for herself as bartender.
“I don’t understand why you’re upset,” she admitted. “Why do you think you have to be there?”
* * *
Ethan caught himself right before he answered her question honestly. “Figured you’d want me there.” That sounded a lot better than I don’t want you alone with that pretty boy.
His thoughts smacked of jealousy, which was not something he was willing to admit to her. He’d barely acknowledged the emotion to himself.
Jealousy and caring were both so new. Ethan still hadn’t accepted either of them totally.
“I think I can handle laying down a couple of tracks of a song.” Although she didn’t roll her eyes, her condescending tone was plain.
“Brad wants me to come,” he blurted out.