Page 45 of Rescued by the Single Dad

A bathtub that definitely had enough room for two.

Clint slammed the heel of his palm against his forehead. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He bounded down the stairs to make himself busy.

Not that he really had anything to do but wait.

And visualize Brooke upstairs in his tub again.

She really needed to stay off her feet.

Grayson was right. Some of the cuts were infected, and it had to be because she walked on them, opening up the fresh scabs and not letting them heal properly.

So if he needed to play babysitter to the starlet and keep her off her feet, he would.

The siren call of his beer down at the pub grew louder, though.

A text message made his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he fished it out just as he made his way into the kitchen. It was from Bennett. Island elders meeting is tonight. Bonn Remmen had all his affairs in order. It’s an open meeting anyone can attend to hear the reading of the will.

Well, shit.

They’d definitely have to go to that. Not only to pay proper respects to Bonn, the elders and others close to Bonn, but to also get the scoop on the fate of Bonn’s land.

He replied to Bennett. We’ll definitely go.

Bennett sent a thumbs up.

He’d already cleaned up breakfast dishes and put away the carafe for his French press, but Brooke would probably be hungry, so he went about making some scrambled eggs and turkey sausages for her. Cooking would be a mediocre distraction to what currently paraded through his mind, which was intrusive and increasingly suggestive images of her naked in his tub.

Then he thought back to that temporary but very memorable moment where his face was smashed perfectly by her breasts. She smelled so fucking good, and her tits were so incredibly plush and soft.

And now he had a boner.

Just fucking great.

Grumbling to himself about how he was a forty-four-year-old man and not a fifteen-year-old boy with an uncontrollable libido, he nearly missed Brooke calling out for him.

He took the stairs two at a time and had to stop himself from bursting into the bathroom. Composing himself—somewhat—and clearing his throat, he made sure his dick was behaving itself. Then he rapped his knuckles against the door. “I’m here.”

“I’m ready to get out,” she said.

He slowly opened the door to find Brooke, wrapped up like a goddess at the spa in both towels. One was around her hair, all twisted up, the other around her body. She sat in the now empty tub and the room smelled like his body wash.

“All clean?” he asked like an idiot, resisting the urge to slam the heel of his palm into his forehead again. For one, she wasn’t a child, and for two, could his question be any more rhetorical? He became a blithering idiot around this woman. She probably wanted to get as far away from him as humanly possible.

“That was so nice,” she said, wrapping her arm around his neck as he bent down to scoop her up. “Thank you.”

He carried her out to his bedroom and plunked her on the bed. “I checked the tracking for the stuff you ordered yesterday. It’s en route and should be here by ten tomorrow morning. So only one more day of wearing all my clothes. If you’re okay with that?”

Her smile was sweet. “It’s totally okay. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, Clint. Truly.”

He went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of dark green board shorts with a drawstring and a black ribbed tank top. Then he set them down for her on the bed. “I’ll leave you to get dressed,” he said, exiting his room quickly. He hung out in the hallway and within a minute, she told him he could come back in. His phone vibrated in his pocket as he opened the door.

No spare crutches at the clinic or anywhere on the island it would appear. Grayson texted. I’ll keep looking.

Clint made a face at his phone as he read the message and a little thrill rippled through him. He could carry Brooke for a little longer.

“What’s that face for?” she queried, pulling on the last sock.

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