“You have a really twisted sense of humor.”
But he forgave her when she unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them right there in the hall. She probably didn’t want to track trail dust all through the house, so he’d do the same. But he’d watch her first, since he wasn’t one to pass up a striptease by a beautiful woman.
She turned and walked toward the kitchen with her T-shirt still on, though, so he sighed and resigned himself to just admiring her legs. Her bruised legs, he noticed. She had an egg-sized bruise on the outside of one thigh, along with a few smaller ones. He kicked off his jeans and yanked his T-shirt over his head so he could follow her.
“You took a good whack to the thigh,” he pointed out while she filled a couple of frosted mugs with water.
She twisted around so she could see the bruises. “Yeah. It’s a little tender to the touch, but nothing major.”
“You should let me check the rest of you over.” She gave him a cold glass of water and an arched eyebrow. “For bruises, I mean, though you do look sexy as hell with a dirty face, wearing nothing but a T-shirt.”
Putting a hand on her hip, which drew the hem of her T-shirt up a tantalizing half inch, she scowled at him. “When I made you my fake fiancé, I had no idea you had this weird dirty-face fetish.”
“I didn’t have it before I became your fake fiancé.” He took a long drink of water. “And it’s not a fetish. I told you, it turns me on that you work hard and you play hard. The dirt’s just a visual representation of that, I guess.”
“That’s very deep of you.”
“Plus it means you’ll be showering soon and I like you all soaped up and slippery, too.”
A slow flush burned up her neck. “Dirty. Clean. Doesn’t matter to you, does it?”
He was going to tell her no, it didn’t matter—that he’d take her any way he could get her—but he kept his mouth shut. It was true, of course, but nothing good would come of her knowing that. She didn’t need to know that sometimes when they were curled up on the couch watching television or arguing about white versus wheat bread at the store, he would sometimes forget they were pretending to be a couple.
And she really didn’t need to know it sometimes bummed him out when he remembered.
That was bad. Sure, he enjoyed her company—and he sure as hell enjoyed the sex—but in just a week, he’d be leaving. He’d be free to explore the wheres and whats of the rest of his life, as he’d planned to do before being waylaid by Emma’s crazy scheme. He hadn’t had his freedom back long enough to give it up again, especially to a woman who drove him nuts. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life deadheading daisies and reading flowcharts on the proper order of household chores.
Emma walked past him, stripping off her T-shirt and giving him a come hither look over her shoulder.
On the other hand…
Two of them in the shower made for a tight fit, but Sean didn’t mind. The more of her skin touching his, the better. They did a quick lather and rinse to get the trail grime off and then Sean took his time, soaping her body inch by inch. He found a few more smatterings of bruises, especially near her right shoulder blade, though none as pronounced as the one on her thigh.
He kissed the ones he could reach standing up and noted the others for later. She winced a little when he carefully cleaned around the scrape on her arm and he kissed her mouth until that little gasp of pain became a moan of pleasure.
When the water started running cold, they dried off and brushed their teeth. She nudged him out of the way so she could spit and the moment hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.
It was so…domestic. They were acting like a married couple. Or like a couple who’d been living together and would be getting married in the near future. And didn’t that just confuse the hell out of him, because that’s what they were supposed to be. But not really.
He followed her to bed, his mind reeling as she tucked herself against him like she did every night. Like she belonged there. And he pulled her even a little closer because he did every night.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she whispered.
“I’m beat. Haven’t ridden in a long time, especially like that.”
Her hand stroked his chest. “Starting things in the shower you can’t follow through on, soldier?”
“The last thing your body needs right now is more action.”
She sighed, still stroking his chest. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”
He rolled toward her a little so he could cup her breast. “I know a great cure for that.”
“I thought you were beat.”