“Some kinds of luck, you’re better off without.”
Even now, thinking back on it, Ivy couldn’t help but shudder.
Thank God the injury hadn’t hit anything vital. If she’d been unlucky–if that shovel had pierced an organ or nicked an artery–the consequences didn’t even bear imagining.
Jamison’s hair was cropped short, and Ivy worked quickly. In just a few minutes, she’d washed his hair clean.
“You can sit up now,” she said, grabbing a fresh towel and rubbing it over his head, not caring much for finesse.
Through the flurry of towel and fingers, Jamison gazed at the woman standing before him, and for a fleeting moment, he felt inexplicably happy.
“Alright, pants off–time for a shower.”
Ivy tried to sound casual, giving the order as if it were no big deal.
Jamison rose to his feet.
But as her hands reached for his waistband and tugged at his zipper, he suddenly felt embarrassed, and instinctively stepped back.
Ivy paused, glancing up at him. “What’s wrong?”
Jamison frowned, his gaze skittering away; even his voice came out in a stammer. “N–nothing… Your hand just brushed my waist. It, um, tickled a little.”
She eyed him, quickly catching on.
“So, are you just ticklish, or are you embarrassed?”
He didn’t answer.
Ivy’s lips curled in amusement. “Funny. I’m not the one blushing here, but you are? Aren’t you supposed to be the tough guy?”
Jamison’s face remained stiff. “I’m the one standing here, stripped bare and at your mercy. If anyone’s at a disadvantage, it’s me. Why should you be embarrassed?”
“So what do you want, then? Skip the shower and go to bed dirty?”
Truth be told, Ivy didn’t really want to do this either.
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They might be married, but things hadn’t progressed that far yet.
Stripping him down and helping him bathe–well, there were bound to be sorne awkwardly intimate moments. She was still a proper young woman; this wasn’t exactly something she was prepared for.
Not only was she unprepared, just thinking about it made her feel like she was about to combust.
But Jamison looked equally unwilling to crawl into bed filthy. He pressed his lips together, brow furrowing as he sized her up for a long moment, before finally making up his mind.
“Let’s just get it over with. When I’m healed, I’ll return the favor–fair’s fair.”
Ivy, already a bundle of nerves with her heart racing, couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. “Thanks, but I’m perfectly capable, Mr. Jamison. No need to trouble yourself.”
It was getting late, anyway. No time for bickering or nerves.
Steeling herself, Ivy helped him out of his clothes with brisk efficiency.
Jamison was obviously uncomfortable, face flushed and posture stiff as a board.
Ivy kept her eyes forward, focusing on the task at hand. She had to keep the bandaged wound dry, couldn’t just close her eyes and hope for the best.
So–what she saw, she saw. Every bit of him, wanted or not.
Jamison had a great physique, lean and strong, all masculine lines she’d noticed before. But now, those muscles were swathed in bandages, and a raw, angry
wound slashed across his back. It made her heart ache just to look at it.
Neither of them spoke. The silence grew heavier, charged with awkward tension.
By the time she reached his waist, Ivy felt like her whole body was burning, her mind barely functioning.
She had to say something to break the silence.
“If I hurt you, just let me know,” she muttered.
“I’m fine…”
“You’ll have to sleep on your stomach tonight.”
“I know…”
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“And, um–well, you–oh, never mind-”
“What is it? Just say it.” Jamison almost wanted to tease her, maybe ask if she liked what she saw.
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