Page 19 of Unplanned Target

Because Owen just used it.

Slowly, I reach out and take it, rolling the slippery rectangle between my palms as I think about what all it might have touched. Which parts of Owen’s skin it came into contact with.

I might need an intervention.

Shoving the bar back into the recess, I quickly scrub down with the suds clinging to my hands, then dry off with one of the clean, but slightly stiff towels I found in the closet. Luckily, I also found a plush, blue plaid robe I can wear while my clothes wash and dry. It’s sized for my brother, so it requires a little bit of folding to make the wrap-around work, but it’s better than rocking just a towel like Owen did.

A towel that left very little to my imagination. An imagination I genuinely thought was dead and gone.

Clearly not, because it’s been working hard to come up with what I couldn’t see.

After brushing my teeth, I give myself another stern look in the mirror. “Quit thinking about his dick.”

The poor man would likely be horrified to discover the thoughts dancing around my head. He’s here simply to keep Allie and me safe. Not to be objectified or to contribute to my sexual reawakening. I would prefer to let that shit sleep, because it will be frustrating as hell to deal with since I have no plans to sex it up with anyone.

After making sure my hair isn’t a completely wild mess—for absolutely no reason and definitely not because I care what a man thinks of me—I collect my clothes and step out of the bathroom.

To find Owen still rocking his towel. His back is to me as he peers out the window, a cup of coffee clutched in one large hand. I’m only standing there gawking for a second before he turns, sensing my presence like the deadly machine he is.

Stepping away from the window, he comes toward me, eyes moving to the bundle in my arms. “I loaded up the washing machine if you want to put your stuff in.”

I stare at him, brain stumbling over towels and dicks and washing machine claims as it attempts to form a coherent conclusion. “You loaded the washing machine?”

I don’t think my ex-husband could have even identified the washing machine, let alone completed a load of laundry. He was equally capable in the kitchen.

And honestly, the bedroom.

Our marriage was a perfect example of where serious daddy issues can land even the strongest and most independent of women.

“I think Allie’s asleep, or I would have had her toss hers in too.” Owen takes a sip of his coffee, the rich scent of it tinting the air. “I’ll turn everything over when the wash cycle is done, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

It takes me a few seconds to realize my mouth is hanging open. I clamp it shut, but I’m still pretty fucking perplexed by what he’s done.

Like an idiot, I stand there for a little longer before finally turning toward the utility room. I don’t say anything, because I have zero clue what to say.

After adding my clothes in with his, I creep into the bedroom where my daughter’s sleeping like a rock, finding her discarded clothes before putting them in the machine. The cycle has already been chosen and soap has been added, so all I have to do is close the lid on the basic model and press the button to start it.

And apparently I don’t even have to come move everything to the dryer in forty-five minutes.

Because Owen is going to do it.

Weird.

Going back through the house, I find Owen is now at the back window, coffee cup still in hand, diligence in place.

I offer an awkward wave, trying to keep my eyes from gluing themselves to his chest. “Goodnight again.”

He tips his head at me. “Goodnight.”

I quietly open the bedroom door, peeking through the gap as I close it to steal one last look at Owen, getting a great view of his toned back and broad shoulders as he goes back to looking out the window.

He really is an impressive specimen. So attractive it would be strange of me not to look. This is totally normal. Doesn’t mean anything.

Definitely not that I’m interested in him.

Sealing off my view of the man rotting my brain, I pad across the cool wood floor to slide into bed next to my daughter. My relief at finding her hasn’t really sunk in yet. Probably because we aren’t quite out of the woods. A fact that’s pretty obvious, because if we were, Owen wouldn’t be pacing from one side of the cabin to the other, keeping watch.

And I know it’s his job, but I’ve never had a man inconvenience himself for my well-being the way this one has. Hell, I haven’t had a man inconvenience himself for me in pretty much any capacity.