Page 59 of A Cowboy in the Streets

He led me into what was very obviously a bedroom. A queen-size bed was front and center, decked out in linens of a deep, masculine gray. The large window had matching gray drapes. A knotted pine dresser stood between what I assumed was the closet door and the bathroom door. Next to the left side of the bed was a pine table. The right side was empty, giving the room an unfinished look. That was the extent of the décor. No paintings, no framed photographs, no flowers, no mementos.

“Your room?” I asked, even though I knew it was. Something about the lonely nightstand gave it away. A different man might have bought the matching pair on the hope that someday there would be a woman to use it. Not Adam. Spending the rest of his life single was a foregone conclusion. He wanted it that way. No matter how the way he looked at me said otherwise.

“Yeah. I figured you’d be more comfortable here than Ted’s bathroom or the hall bathroom. And this one has the best tub.” He moved to the dresser, opened the bottom drawer, and removed a towel, which he tossed on the bed.

“You figured right.”

He stared at me for a beat. “You don’t have any clean clothes here,” he said as realization dawned that I was about to be fully naked.

“Right again.”

He stared at me for another second, assessing. “You can borrow a shirt and shorts from me. I’ll leave them on the bed for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Bathroom’s right there.” He jerked his head toward the door to the right of the dresser. “Epsom salts are under the sink. Holler if you need anything. I won’t be far.”

He was halfway out the door before I finally pushed his name from my suddenly dry mouth. “Adam.”

“Yeah?” He stopped and looked back at me.

I wet my lips nervously. “I need help.”

“You want me to run the bath for you?” He started for the bathroom without waiting for a response.

“I need you to get me out of my bra.”

He froze. “Come again?”

“Under normal circumstances, removing a sports bra is like wrestling an anaconda. It requires strength, endurance, and dexterity. Quite frankly, I’m lacking all three right now.” I lifted my tee shirt over my head. Slowly, carefully, painfully. “Getting the rest of my clothes off is going to be bad enough. A sports bra is beyond me.”

He frowned at my chest. “All right,” he gritted out. He took me by the shoulders and turned me so my back was facing him. “There’s no clasp.”

“I know. That’s what makes it hard. You’re going to have to cut me out of it.”

Silence.

His fingers flexed into my shoulders in a quick, involuntary spasm. I would have done anything to see his face right then…except show him mine. I kept my gaze glued to my pink boots, not daring to turn around.

“I’ll get the scissors.” His voice was polite. Distant.

I blew out a shallow breath as he disappeared down the hallway. A moment later, he returned, shutting the door behind him.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said grimly. Like it was punishment to cut my sports bra off my body.

He hooked a finger under the thick band, right between my breasts. I gasped as the heat of his finger was replaced with the cold steel of the scissors. His eyes shot to my face.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I didn’t expect it to be so cold. Keep going.”

He nodded, his brows pushed together into a dark slash across his forehead. With each cut of the fabric, my breasts expanded and his brows contracted. It was almost funny. The kind of funny where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

After the last snip, my mangled bra split open to reveal the inner curves of my breasts, and he raised his gaze to my face. He kept it there as he gently slid the bra from my shoulders and let it fall to the ground.

“Thank you.” Already it felt like I could breathe easier.

He plucked something from my hair and showed it to me. Hay. “You’re filthy.”

“Well, yeah. I was rolling around in the dirt.” My lips tilted into a rueful smile. “My hair is probably going to be sandy for a few days. I don’t think I can scrub it the way it needs right now.”

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