“You have been shot, went through two bags of blood, and are turning the same color as the tiles on the floor. Let me help you.”
“I’m not a charity case for you!” she yelled, and as she watched Cliff’s face turn red, she imagined if this was a cartoon steam would billow from his ears.
“No, you’re not. You’re fucking important!” he shouted back in return, his chest rising up and down with his jagged breaths.
Alexis couldn’t argue with him now. Even though she wanted to ask to whom she was important, but the caregiver at h
er last group home always told her to never poke a bear. She never understood that saying until this moment. And Cliff seemed like a bear that had been poked one too many times.
She knew she should apologize for her irrational reaction. Hell, she even had the excuse of the injury and blood loss to blame, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Alexis was stubborn through and through.
But Cliff brought it upon himself to express his regret first, surprising her. With a hand on the back of his neck, he contritely stared at the floor as he said, “Look, I’m sorry that I yelled. I want to help you. I wouldn’t have agreed for anyone else.”
Her head bobbed once in agreement as she reached out with her free hand to grip his shoulder. Effortlessly he guided her into the shower, sitting down on the bench first, then guiding her between his legs. Alexis was thankful that he kept the boxer briefs on his body because she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted had she felt his naked body against hers.
“We’ll wash your body with the antibacterial soap first, then we can do your hair, okay?” he asked her in a soft voice, and she wondered if he was struggling with their proximity as much as she was.
Whispering her reply, “Okay,” Alexis allowed him to rub the lathered washcloth over her skin, only relenting the material to her to cleanse the area between her legs. His touch was clinical in nature and she wondered how many times he may have done this for someone else. She knew enough about his military background but none of his childhood. That information was locked up tightly somewhere.
As much as the warm water stung her wounds, she took pleasure in the thought of wiping away the last few days. Killing people was part of her job, but she hated how she felt afterward. Alexis understood how Lady Macbeth felt in Shakespeare’s play, that she could never wash the blood from his hands, dyeing the waters red instead. Of course, she always thought the character was a bit crazy. Maybe she was too.
“Ready for your hair?” His voice was rough behind her and she wondered how difficult it was for him to keep his body in check.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
Moving around her effortlessly, he stood and grabbed a handheld showerhead, then twisted her body so that she sat sideways on the bench.
Bending his knees, he knelt on the shower floor, his large body filled the space. Cliff’s head inched closer to her until his lips were just a breath away from her ear. “Tilt your head back.”
She complied as Cliff held the showerhead over her hair, wetting her long dark tresses. Alexis closed her eyes, only opening them when she heard a clink on the floor, but quickly closed them again as Cliff’s hands massaged and lathered her hair with shampoo.
“Sorry if it is too manly. It is all that I have. I can grab you some at the store; just tell me what you like.”
She was shocked at the sound of nervousness in his voice as if his shampoo wasn’t good enough for her.
“Thank you, Cliff. This shampoo is fine. Maybe just some conditioner, if you don’t mind?”
His answering chuckle was like a ray of sunshine after a storm. Her heart burst with joy knowing she caused his spark of happiness.
“You’re in luck,” he told her. “I have some.”
Sitting up, she looked over at him suspiciously. “Really?”
Cliff shrugged his shoulders as if an ex-Army Ranger and tattoo artist using conditioner for his hair was a likely occurrence. “I like the way it makes my hair look. And it’s easier to comb after a shower.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Lean back. We’re almost done.”
Cliff washed the rest of the trying two days away until she was left feeling fresh and new. He reached for a towel tucked into a cabinet and patted down her body, then draped it around his waist before reaching out for another towel and wrapping it around her shoulders.
Lifting her in his arms, he carried her through the hall and into a small but clean bedroom where he eased her onto the mattress. With a similar skill to Logan’s, Cliff applied ointment to her wounds then redressed them, the sutures stung as they pulled at her skin.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Logan said you should be feeling better in a few days, just take it easy, okay? I’m going to help you get dressed and let you get some sleep.”
He stalked over to his dresser, tugged out a navy blue T-shirt and a pair of plaid boxer shorts. It was exactly what she would be wearing if she was at her home. Except, she didn’t really have a home, just a studio apartment she rented for cheap close to the office. That way, if she got a call late at night or early in the morning, she could get there sooner.
As he had done at his tattoo studio, he lifted her arms and legs into the clothing, only satisfied when she was completely covered up.