Page 138 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

“Will it make me smell like you?”

“Maybe. But I’d prefer you smelled like you.”

“And what would that be?”

“Oranges,” I replied. “Grapefruit. Tangerines.”

She smiled as I put her in the front seat of my truck. “My shampoo.”

“Whatever it is, I like it.”

My cabin felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the day. I helped Janna out of the truck. Her legs were still unsteady beneath her. She leaned into me as we walked up the wooden steps to my front door.

Max greeted us with a petulant cry.

“What?”

“He lives here now,” I said dismissively. “Come on.”

I guided her toward the bathroom, not bothering to turn on any lights. The shower was one of the few luxuries I’d invested in when I bought this place. It was a walk-in with multiple heads and enough space for two people. I’d never shared it with anyone before.

“Let me help,” I said.

Everything reeked of smoke and ash. I helped her sit on the edge of the tub while I knelt to untie her boots.

“I can do it,” she protested weakly.

“I know you can,” I said, working the laces free. “But you don’t have to.”

Her socks were damp with sweat. I pulled them off gently, then helped her stand so I could ease her jeans down her hips. She stepped out of them, swaying slightly. I steadied her with my hands on her waist.

“Your turn,” she said, tugging at my shirt.

I stripped quickly, not caring about the aches in my ribs or the way my back protested every movement. All I cared about was getting us both clean and washing away the nightmare of the day.

I turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise. Janna watched me, her blue eyes tracking my movements with appreciation in her eyes.

We both knew sex was off the table. Neither of us could breathe right and our bodies were physically drained.

“Come here,” I said, holding out my hand.

She took it, and I led her under the spray. The water hit us both, turning gray as it ran off our skin and hair. I reached for my shampoo, working it into her blonde hair with gentle fingers. She closed her eyes and leaned into my touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

“Feel good?” I asked.

“Amazing,” she whispered.

I rinsed the suds away, then repeated the process with conditioner. The simple act of caring for her felt sacred somehow. My hands moved over her scalp, her neck, her shoulders, washing away the smoke and fear.

She returned the favor, her small hands working shampoo through my dark hair. I had to bend down so she could reach. Her fingers were magic against my scalp. It was the best post-fire shower I’d ever had.

Once clean, we dried off, and once again, I carried her to my bed. I gently set her down and then crawled in beside her.

“Dalton?” Her voice was already thick with sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be an idiot again.”

I pressed my lips to hers. “No promises.”

“Asshole.”

And just like that, we were out.