A thick cloud of white steam rolled out of the bathroom, carrying the sharp scent of cheap Dial soap.
Clara stepped into the doorway. The steam parted.
Cade stood in front of the small, cracked sink. He was facing the mirror, his broad, muscular back to the door. Water droplets clung to his tanned skin, tracking down the deep groove of his spine.
At the sound of the door opening, his entire body went rigid.
He moved with terrifying speed. He snatched a faded gray towel from the rack and spun around, wrapping it haphazardly around his narrow waist.
His dark eyes locked onto her. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.
"Get out." His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. It carried the absolute authority of a military sergeant.
Clara didn't move. Her eyes dropped from his face.
There it was. The jagged, raised pink scar slashing diagonally across his left pectoral muscle. In her past life, she had called it disgusting. She had refused to look at it.
Now, her chest ached so badly she could barely breathe. She wanted to press her lips to that ruined flesh.
Instead of stepping back, she stepped forward. Her bare foot crossed the threshold into the humid, cramped bathroom.
Cade's eyes widened a fraction. He took a subconscious half-step back. His bare shoulders hit the cold, wet tiles of the shower wall.
"I said get out, Clara," he warned, his voice rising in volume. "This isn't the place for one of your tantrums."
Clara ignored him. She looked down at the floor. A puddle of soapy water gathered near the drain.
She shifted her weight and planted her right foot directly onto the slickest patch of tile.
She let her ankle give way.
A short, sharp gasp escaped her lips as her center of gravity vanished. She pitched forward, falling directly toward him.
Cade didn't think. His military reflexes bypassed his brain.
His large hands shot out. He caught her by the upper arms just before her face smashed into the sink.
Clara crashed into his solid, burning-hot chest. The impact knocked the breath out of her. His skin smelled like clean soap and male sweat. It was intoxicating.
The moment his bare hands registered the soft fabric of her dress and the heat of her skin, he tried to let go. He recoiled like he had touched a live wire.
Clara didn't let him.
Her hands flew up. Her fingers dug fiercely into the thick, corded muscles of his biceps. She held on with a desperate, white-knuckled grip.
"Ow," she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut and contorting her face in pain. "My arm. I twisted my arm."
Cade froze. His hands hovered inches from her waist, unsure where to put them. Suspicion warred with deeply ingrained protective instinct in his dark eyes.
He looked down at her hands gripping his arms. "Let me see it."
Clara sagged against him. She let her full body weight rest against his chest, forcing him to bear her load. The physical distance between them was completely erased.
"I can't," she whispered. She tilted her head back and looked up at him.
Her eyes were wide, glassy, and completely devoid of the venom he was expecting. There was only a soft, raw vulnerability.
Cade's breath hitched. His Adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat. He looked trapped. He forced his gaze away from her face, staring intensely at the peeling paint on the bathroom door.
"I'll get the first aid kit," he said gruffly.
He tried to step back, to peel her fingers off his arm.
Clara tightened her grip. Her nails dug slightly into his skin.
"My ankle hurts too," she lied smoothly. "I can't walk. You have to help me to the bed."
Cade let out a harsh breath through his nose. He looked down at her, his jaw set like granite. He clearly didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to risk dropping her on the hard tile.
Slowly, reluctantly, he slid one massive arm around her waist.
His palm was rough and calloused against the thin lace of her dress. Clara shivered at the contact.
"Lean on me," he ordered.
He carefully guided her out of the steamy bathroom. He kept his body as rigid as a board, trying to minimize the friction between them.
Clara rested her head against his shoulder as they walked. She buried her face in the crook of his neck.
A tiny, hidden smile touched her lips.
