After I finished my list I was bored-how long do those stupid games last, anyway?!-and I got sleepy. His shoulder was right there, his arm was supporting my back, so I cuddled up and went to sleep.
I woke as he was carrying me upstairs. The lights were off downstairs, and I assumed it was bedtime. "I get a shower tonight," I said, yawning. "And a new bandage."
"I know. I'll get everything ready before we get in the shower."
He got the gauze and sterile pads ready, then carefully cut and unwound the thick layers of gauze until he got to the pad that was stuck directly over the stitches-and I do mean stuck. After a careful tug, I decided to get in the shower and let the water loosen the gauze from the stitches.
He turned on the shower so the water would get warm, then stripped me and then himself. Considering my stance about not having sex with him-yeah, like that was even slowing him down-I probably shouldn't have been naked with him, but the truth was I liked it. A lot. I liked seeing him naked and I liked the way he looked at me when I was naked. I liked the way he touched me, as if he couldn't help himself, cupping my breasts and rubbing his thumbs over the nipples. He hadn't paid much attention to my breasts since he'd found out about my neck, but I could tell he did my neck for my benefit, and my breasts were for his. He liked them, and he showed it.
When we got in the shower and our bodies were all wet and slippery, and we had to stand close together so he could peel the pad off my arm, we wound up belly to belly and slowly moving against each other in a sensual water dance. I found out that enough time had lapsed for him to get it up again, and I quickly said, "No sex!" He laughed, as if it didn't matter, and began washing me. And I found out why he thought it didn't matter. Look, I tried. I really did. I just hadn't been prepared for all the places he washed me, or how long he took.
"Don't pout," he said afterward, as I sat on the vanity chair and he rebandaged my arm in a much more sensible manner. "I like that you can't resist me."
"I'm working on it, though," I muttered. "I'll manage it yet."
He took my hair down out of the ponytail and brushed it, though I could have done the brushing. I handled brushing my teeth, didn't I? But he wanted to, so I let him. I did the skin-care routine, then asked for the drawstring pants and tank top I wanted to wear to bed. He snorted. "Like you'll need them," he said, picking me up and taking me to bed just the way I was, which was bare.
Poor Detective MacInnes, I'd forgotten about him, putting in long hours while Wyatt was at home with me. The phone rang just as Wyatt was getting into bed beside me; he had the receiver in his hand before the first ring had finished. "Bloodsworth. You got it?" He looked at me and said, "Dwayne Bailey. Ring a bell with you?"
An image shot to mind, that of a burly man about six feet tall, with a lot of body hair. "I remember him," I said. "He needed electrolysis."
"Could he have been the man you saw?"
I have very good visual spatial skills, and I could mentally place Dwayne Bailey standing beside Nicole's car, comparing him to the man I had seen. "There's no way I could recognize his face, but he's about the right size. About six feet, a little on the heavy side. He was kind of surly, too, like he had a bad temper." I remembered that because he'd been in an argument with another of our members, a regular, over using one of the weight machines. Evidently he'd been in a hurry and hadn't liked waiting while the other man finished his sets.
"Good enough. We'll go see him tomorrow," Wyatt said. "MacInnes, grab what sleep you can."
"Why don't you roust Bailey out tonight?" I asked, a little indignant. They might have found the man who killed Nicole and shot me, and they weren't going to pick him up right away?
"We can't just arrest him," Wyatt explained as he turned out the light and slid under the covers. "We don't have probable cause, and no judge in town would sign a warrant. We'll interview him, see what shakes loose. That's how you investigate, honey, by talking to people."
"And in the meantime, he's running around shooting at innocent pieces of fluff. Something's wrong with this picture."
He chuckled and ruffled my hair, then settled me against him. "I never said you were innocent, either."
I pinched his side. "Just think," I said with fake anticipation. "This time tomorrow night, I could be in my own bed."
"But you won't be."
"Why not?"
He chuckled again. "Because the piece of fluff can't dress herself."
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning I could move my arm more, though very gingerly. While Wyatt was downstairs cooking breakfast, I brushed my teeth and hair, and just to show him, even got partially dressed. I found my clothes hanging in the closet next to his, which gave me butterflies in my stomach, seeing them together like that. He must have unpacked my bag when he brought it up last night, because I certainly hadn't. I searched for my underwear and found it in a dresser drawer, all neatly laid out the way I would have done it instead of jumbled together the way I'd expected. The man had depth to him.
I looked through the rest of the drawers to see how he treated his underwear, and found that he was neat. His T-shirts were folded and stacked, his boxers were folded, his socks were matched and mated. There was nothing unusual about his underwear, just regular guy stuff. I liked that, because a relationship between two vain people can really cut into mirror time. One needed to be normal.
I admit that I'm vain. A little. I'm not as bad as I used to be, when I was a teenager, because as I got older I guess I got a little more confident about how I looked. Strange, isn't it? When I was sixteen, which you have to admit is probably a peak year for body and beauty, I would spend hours fixing my hair and putting on makeup, trying on outfit after outfit, because I wasn't sure I looked good enough. Now that I'm thirty, I'm much more comfortable, even though I know I don't look as good as I did at sixteen. Having dewy skin takes an effort now. I have to work out like mad to keep my weight under control. When I'm going out for a big date or something more formal than my usual stuff, I can still make a big deal out of hair and makeup, but for the most part I don't bother. A little mascara, a little lip gloss, and that's about it.