by Jo Leigh
When he stood, Christie was still standing by the door, holding the top of her robe closed with a tight fist. He got close and reached out to touch her arm, but she flinched away. Dropping his hand, he stepped back, made himself look as harmless as possible. “Soak as long as you want. I’ll be right outside. I won’t move, I won’t need to get a glass of water. I won’t make a phone call. I’ll be there.”
“Okay,” she said, “but…”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have any clothes. For after.”
“What do you want? I’ll go get them.”
“I’ll go.” She stepped to the door and opened it, but she didn’t walk into the hall. “Come with,” she said.
He walked next to her, not touching, and kept it up until they were back in her bedroom, inside her closet. She got underwear, jeans, a T-shirt, a bra. Socks and sneakers. Then she headed for the door.
“What about pajamas?”
She shivered. “I can sleep in these.”
He didn’t say a word. It was smart to be prepared for anything.
They got back to the bathroom, which was warm and steamy as the tub was almost full. He’d already made sure there were no new bugs in here, so she could soak in peace, although he doubted that would happen. “I’m going to be right outside,” he said. “No one’s getting past me. So don’t worry about it. Take as long as you want.”
She put her clothes down on the counter by the sink. For a long minute, she simply stood there, staring at her T-shirt, her back to Boone. Her hands quivered by her side.
“Christie?”
She didn’t turn around. “Go on. It’s fine.”
He approached her softly, but he made sure she knew he was there. “Tell me what I can do,” he said.
“Make it go away.”
He could barely make out the words, but he heard the soft sniff. She was crying. He fought back his panic and concentrated on her, on what she needed. He’d never been able to deal with crying women. Kids, sure. Give ’em a piece of candy and they shut right up, but that didn’t work so well with anyone over ten. “I will. I wish it could go faster, but trust me. He’ll be gone. For now, you’ll feel a lot better after a long soak in the tub.”
He glanced back and saw he’d better turn off the water.
As he bent over the spigot, he felt her beside him. When he stood, she stared at him with reddened eyes, her skin so pale she looked as white as her robe.
“Stay,” she whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I mean in here.”
He bit his lip, not wanting to say the wrong thing. It was so quiet in the small room, not even the faucet dripped, and he wished he was someone a hell of a lot smarter. “Are you sure that won’t make you uncomfortable?”
“Maybe. But I’d rather be uncomfortable than so scared I can’t breathe.”
He nodded, trying to understand. After looking at her hopeful gaze, he decided he didn’t need to understand. He needed to do what she wanted, whatever that was. “Sure. I’ll go sit over there,” he said, pointing at the toilet. “You go ahead.”
He went over to the toilet, put the lid down and sat, angling himself so she’d have privacy and he could see the door. His weapon was at his back, ready should he hear anything. The only thing he heard, however, was the sound of her undressing. The soft thump of her robe hitting the floor. Then there was the whoosh of her touching the water. He wasn’t sure at first if it was her hand or her foot, and then it kept on going, so he knew she was naked. She was lowering her body into the tub. Getting wet. Getting warm.
His face heated as his mind pictured every inch of that body sinking into the tub. He thought about that moment at the gym, when he could have kissed her, and he wanted to shoot himself for being such an idiot.
After a deep breath, he forced himself to focus again. He was her bodyguard, not her lover. He had no business thinking what he was thinking, and he deserved the discomfort in his pants. His dick didn’t know any better, but he did. Christie was his client. Clients and sex didn’t mix.
“Boone?”
His name echoed slightly in that soft, whispery voice that came from fear. “Yeah?”
“Talk to me.”
“About?”
“Anything. About you. Where were you born?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, clicking through the alternatives. There were several things he could tell her, and if she checked, they’d all pan out. But it felt cowardly to lie in this room, with her being so incredibly vulnerable. “Tennessee.”
“I’m surprised. I don’t hear the accent.”
“Yeah, I had one. I got rid of it.”
“Why?”
“I needed to blend in.”
“Oh, okay.”
He waited, unsure what she wanted from him. But then he decided she just wanted noise, something to cover the sound of her washing. “I had an older brother. Teddy.”
“Had?”
“He was killed in Desert Storm.”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. He was a great guy. A hell of a soldier.”
“Is that why you became one?”
“No. It’s just what we did. My father was a lifer. Hell, no one ever called him anything but Major. We were an army family, all the way. ROTC, enlisting the day we came of age. I never thought of doing anything else.”
“What about your mother?”
He sighed. “She was a good army wife. She could pack up and move a house in a week. Nothing fazed her. She took everything like a good soldier.”
“Are they still around?”
“Yeah, they are. Back in Tennessee. My father’s retired. He likes to hunt now. Hunt and fish.”
“Must be nice.”
“What, hunting?”
“No, having parents who approve of you. Who care.”
He laughed. “Boy, are you off by a mile.”
The water sloshed. “But you were in Delta. That had to have made them happy.”
“It did. For a while.”
“What happened?”
He took in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Things didn’t turn out the way any of us expected.”
“You’re talking about the Balkans, aren’t you? About the mess that got Nate killed.”
“Yeah.”
He listened as she washed. At least that’s what he pictured. A sponge moving over her pale skin, down her arms, dipping under the water to caress her long legs.
“Boone?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you miss your mom?”
All thoughts of wayward sponges ceased instantly with that word, but aside from the slight flash of guilt, he registered the tone of Christie’s question. She was hurt, alone and in one hell of a mess. “Sometimes,” he said. “Do you miss yours?”
“No,” she said, her voice a lot softer than a moment ago. “I miss Beaver’s mom.”
“Who?”
“You know, Beaver Cleaver. His mom. She would have been great, wouldn’t she? Always dressed so neat and tidy, always making sure the house was clean and dinner was on the table when Ward came home from the office. She listened to all their problems, no matter how silly they were. And she never made either of her kids feel stupid.”
“Versus your mother, who did?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s an expert. She loved us, I suppose, in her own dysfunctional way, but sometimes it was awfully hard to tell.”
“How’d you turn out so great if she was so awful?”
She didn’t answer, and he was tempted to turn and look, but he kept his focus on the doorknob, nothing else.
“Christie?”
“Just thinking,” she said. “Thinking that it was my dad’s influence, but it wasn’t. The good parts of me are because of Nate. He wasn’t that much older, but he was the adult in our house. Can you believe that? As crazy as Nate was?”
“Yeah, I can believe it. Why do you think he was the team leader?
The man had some serious skills. I’ve never met anyone I could depend on like Nate. He was the rock, no matter what.”
“Yeah. A pigheaded rock, but man, when I needed him, he was right there. You know he beat up Scott Fairchild for me? That was excellent.”
“Tell me,” he said, wanting nothing more than for her to relax, and for him to stop thinking about how naked she was.
“Fairchild was an ass. He was a year ahead of me in high school, and he thought he was too damn cool for the rest of us mortals. What a jerk. He used to put a chalk mark on his locker for every girl he slept with. Well, that he said he slept with. The chalk was white, and when the janitor wiped it off, he’d just chalk them up again.”
“Why did Nate beat on him?”
“Because he wanted to put me on his list.”
“Oh.”
“No, no. It wasn’t like that. It was worse. I was young and stupid and totally into wanting to be popular. So when he asked me out, I was thrilled. I spent all my babysitting money on a new outfit, and talked about it for days and days before the actual event. He picked me up, introduced himself to my parents with his Eddie Haskell manners, and the minute we were in the car, he told me we weren’t going to make it to the school dance after all, but to this party at his friend’s house.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I’ll say,” she said. “Of course, we were the only two at the party, and of course, he’d laid in a stash of booze. I’d known that’s what he’d want, but I didn’t get it. Not really. So when it came down to it, I freaked. I couldn’t go through with it.”
“That’s good.”
“Not really. Because he took me home. Dropped me off at the end of the block, not even at my house. Then he put a big old chalk mark on the locker with my initials under it. He told everyone that mattered at the school that I was not only a total skank, but that I was so lousy he was sure I was really a dyke. Nice, huh?”
“And that’s when Nate showed up.”
“In his uniform, thank you very much. At school. With all Scott’s posse watching. Not only did Nate clean his clock, he told everyone that Scott was the most unsophisticated, foolish little boy he’d ever seen. That a real man didn’t ever need to broadcast it, that a real man had respect for women because they were the greatest of God’s gifts, and that since he knew for a fact that Scott had lied about doing anything with me, it was a sure bet that he’d lied about every other chalk mark on his locker.
“Bet Scott’s life was never the same again.”
“Damn straight.”
He angled toward her, but didn’t look at anything but her eyes. “And I’ll bet you wish more than anything in the world that Nate was here right now, cleaning this bastard’s clock.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Her lips trembled and then she was crying. Eyes closed, she turned her back to him, but he could see by the way her shoulders shook that this was bad, worse than before.
He heard her sob, and all he could think was that she looked so small, so helpless in that big old tub. And how he wished Nate were there, because she needed him so badly. She needed so much.
Then he thought again about what his job was, here in this house, in this room. And he stood.
7
CHRISTIE STOPPED CRYING. Not because she didn’t miss Nate, not because she’d never felt more alone in her whole life, but because she just couldn’t. Her eyes couldn’t weep, her throat couldn’t breathe, her soul couldn’t hold up, not for another second. There was nothing left in her, just numbness. A person, she supposed, could only be so scared for so long before everything shut down. It was better this way. Easier. If she just stayed in the bathtub for the rest of her life, she’d be fine. Pruney, but fine.
As for Boone, well, she appreciated that he was here. She wished she could believe that he would fix everything, but that was gone, too. Sure, he’d do what he could, but it was useless. Hopeless. Damn, if she wasn’t too tired to even think about that.
She reached over and turned on the Whirlpool jets, then she leaned back so her neck was on the pillow. If she closed her eyes, maybe she could think about the water. Just the water.
It worked for a few minutes, but then she opened her eyes. She gave a start when she saw Boone right next to the tub. His legs were bare, and as her gaze moved up his body, she saw he’d taken his clothes off. He had a towel around his waist, but he was naked, all right.
“Scoot up,” he said.
She heard him, but she was too confused to obey. What, all of a sudden it wasn’t about the job? “What’s going on?”
“Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”
She looked up even farther, until she met his eyes. He didn’t look sneaky and he didn’t leer. But she still wasn’t sure.
“It’s all right,” he said.
She moved until her chest hit her knees. Boone dropped the towel and stepped carefully into the tub behind her, his feet touching her hips. She got as small as she could, feeling her heartbeat against her kneecaps as she waited for him to sit. He grunted as he stretched his legs on either side of her. He had to bend his knees a bit, as he was too tall, even though the tub was way oversized. Then he gave a great sigh, which she knew had to be because of the jets. His hands gripped her shoulders and he pulled her back, against his chest.
“Boone?”
“Yeah?”
“Care to share now? About what you’re doing.”
“Getting in the tub.”
“I know that part. Why?”
“Because you’re scared.”
“I’ve been taking baths for a long time all by myself. Haven’t freaked out yet,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the banked tears in her voice.
“You want me to get out?”
She put her hands on his knees. “No.”
“Okay, then. Lean back and relax.”
She did. Her head fell back to the crook of his neck, her back was cushioned by his chest and she felt surrounded by strength. The thick cock lying against her tailbone was something to think about later.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when this guy is toast?” he asked.
“Do we have to talk about him?”
“Yeah, I think we do. But it’s okay,” he said, as his arms wrapped around her, just above her breasts.
She felt tiny, even though she wasn’t. She was five-seven, and she’d never been with any man who made her feel this delicate. Oddly, it didn’t make her feel helpless. Just, small.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his lips almost touching her ear.
Christie quivered, and not from fear. He had her. He had her. She closed her eyes, cocooned in this man, encircled by heat and flesh and wet, and she wasn’t just small. She was…safe.
Her throat clenched, and it was sheer will that kept her from crying all over again. It seemed impossible that only a moment ago, she’d lost all hope, and now, with his arms, and his words, and his body, he’d changed everything.
“You okay?”
She sniffed. Nodded.
“So what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
“Go to Disneyland?”
“Christie.”
She smiled. He could do stern schoolmarm so well. “Get a new bed.”
He chuckled and she felt it all the way down her back. “That’s good. What else?”
“Get a new job, maybe? Remind my friends that I’m still alive. Take Milo to the park.”
“Okay. Keep those things in mind. Keep them as close as you can. What we’re going to do tonight, is get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll start again. We’ll train in the morning. In the afternoon—”
“Hold it. Get some rest? I hope that means you plan to sleep with me here in this bathtub.”
“Uh, no. But tell you what. I’ll make us up a bed in the living room. I’ll be right there, right next to you. Me and Milo. No one’s getting past the two of us.”
“Well, we can try.”
“Y
ou’ll sleep, trust me. Now,” he said, releasing her from his gentle hold, “lean forward.”
She did, not even questioning his motive. She curled her arms around her legs, leaned her cheek on her knee and waited.
His hands, warmed in the water, went to her shoulders. He began a massage that hurt and felt wonderful at the same time. The wonderful won hands down.
With the patience of a saint, he worked on her neck, her shoulders, even her scalp. She hadn’t moaned so much since the last time she’d had great sex, and that was a long, long time ago.
He didn’t do anything else. It wasn’t a prelude, it wasn’t about loosening her up. The thing was, they both knew he could have. That she would have welcomed a sexual touch, but that wasn’t what he gave her. This was better. It was what she’d wanted even when she hadn’t known how to ask.
He had her add hot water three times. Her fingers and toes looked like dried figs, but she never wanted him to stop. Those large hands, those calloused fingers, were so gentle, so amazing, she felt like a puddle of goo.
“Christie?”
“Yeah?”
“I think we’d better get out now. I’m starting to develop gills.”
She smiled. Turned off the jets and lifted the plug. Her moments of peace were over. Perhaps some of these feelings would linger. If he slept close enough. If she could still feel him next to her.
Bracing his hands on the edge of the tub, Boone got out first. He got one of her towels from the rack, the big Egyptian cotton bathsheet and instead of drying himself off, he held it out for her.
All she could think as she stood, as he wrapped her in warm terrycloth, was that this might have been the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her. She wasn’t used to kind men. Not good-looking kind men. That seemed to be a contradiction in terms.
The only thing she was sure of was that even though she knew the blood was still all over her bed, that the bastard had gotten into her home again, and that it wasn’t over, not by a long shot, she felt relaxed. For that, the man deserved a medal.
He’d gotten himself a towel, and was using it like sandpaper. His gun, which had been right by the tub the entire time, was in his hand even before he put on his pants.