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Before I can protest, he’s lowering me into the warm bath, clothes and all. The water soaks through my T-shirt and panties, and I let out a surprised squeal.
“Is the water warm enough?” he asks. “It was scalding hot when I drew the bath, but it’s been a minute.”
His hands dip under my T-shirt.
“It’s warm enough,” I say. “Sawyer O’Malley! What are you doing?”
He chuckles, kneeling beside the tub. “Solving the undressing problem, obviously.”
His fingers brush my skin as he helps me peel off my sodden shirt, tossing it aside. He doesn’t touch my bra or panties. He doesn’t even ask. It’s all so beautifully mundane—like he’s given me a bath a million times before.
I’m struck by how tender he’s being. He starts on my back, rubbing circles with his soapy hands. His soothing palms are relaxing me so much they’re almost lulling me to sleep. Then he moves to my shoulders, massaging out all the tension that’s been trapped there for as long as I can remember. I could get used to this.
“What are you thinking about?” Sawyer asks softly, his hand dipping in the water to rinse the soap off my back. A fresh waterfall of warmth slides off my shoulders and spills back into the tub.
“I’m thinking I love your hands,” I say, almost moaning the words.
“Just my hands?” he teases.
“They’re pretty good hands.”
He grunts appreciatively, cupping my head with those same large, lovely hands and tilts me back to wet my hair.
“What are you thinking about?” I counter.
He pauses and cocks his head in thought. “I was wondering how my teammates seemed to appear out of nowhere. Fully decked out in their gear.”
I have to admit that was pretty hilarious. They just swooped in there, kicked butt, and then took off to who knows where.
“I’m in my bra and panties and that’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
“That’s what I’mforcingmyself to think about preciselybecauseyou’re in your bra and panties.”
“If you really hate my matching set that much, I can just take them off.”
“Don’t tempt me, woman. It’s been a rough night and you’re injured.”
“It’s a twisted ankle.” I roll my eyes.
Sawyer’s fingers trace a wet, soapy trail down my leg, lifting my foot out of the water.
“And what a gorgeous ankle it is.” He presses his lips on the swollen skin of my ankle, then carefully lowers it back in the water.
“If you must know,” I say, “I might have spilled the beans to Emily yesterday. And I guess she tracked my phone and shared it with Owen.”
“You gave Emily access to tracking and not your own husband?”
I splash his face. “Check your app, dummy. I accepted your request weeks ago.”
“Oh.” His lips curl into a beautiful grin. “Thank you.”
He returns to his work, squeezing shampoo in his palm. As he gently washes my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp, I feel myself melting into his touch. It’s tender and intimate in a way I never expected. My eyes flutter closed, and I let out a contented sigh. The warm water cascades over me, mingling with the scent of the lavender shampoo.
Sawyer’s hands are strong yet gentle, and I feel so safe with him. It’s like the rest of the world has faded away, leaving just us in this bubble of warmth and care.
When did this happen? When did Sawyer O’Malley, the man I married for convenience and spite, become the man I can’t imagine my life without?
Love snuck up on me when I wasn’t looking, wrapping around my heart like a warm, cozy blanket. And now, as Sawyer carefully rinses the suds from my hair, his touch so gentle it makes my heart ache, I realize I’m in deep. Hopelessly, completely, deeply in love. It’s like someone flipped a switch inside me, and suddenly everything is Sawyer.
