Knight:A Club Alias Novel(13)

By: K.D. Robichaux

I don’t know if it’s the lingering meds in my system, or maybe the TBI acting up, but her words have a strange effect on me. They choke me up, and I do my best to disguise the emotion behind a mask of focusing on walking. True, she might have a wicked sense of humor, but goddamn, no one has ever treated me so selflessly before. This woman—this gorgeous, funny, talented, wonderful woman—could easily become someone tremendously important to me. And if what she said is true, that I’m never getting rid of her, then I seriously can’t see one single problem with that. What person in their right mind would want to get rid of a soul like Clarice?

When we finally make it to the latrine, she takes my crutch and leans it against a sink while I hang onto a wall separating the shower stalls. Before I know what’s happening, Clarice is kneeling before me, taking my foot and placing it on her thigh. All I can do is watch, speechless, as she snaps one of the plastic bags in the air to open it up, and then proceeds to wrap up all of my bandages from my knee down with precision. When she’s done, I have no doubt that sucker is watertight, if the look of satisfaction on her face is anything to go by.

She hops up, and I murmur a thank-you. She grasps hold of the sheet she wrapped around my waist, but before she can yank it free from the knot she tied, I snatch up her hands in one of mine. Her head tips way back so she can look up at me, her eyes a mix of startled and something else I can’t quite place. “I can take it from here,” I tell her quietly, but she immediately shakes her head.

“No way. You still have all sorts of painkillers in your system, and there’s no way I could live with myself if I let a war hero slip and break his skull open.”

She tugs at the knot beneath our hands, and the sheet comes free, our gazes still locked. “I won’t slip. I’ll hold onto the wall the whole time—” I begin, but she’s already shaking her head, her eyebrow lifted in defiance.

“Ain’t happening. Plus, you have nothing to be shy about. I’ve already seen your junk,” she informs me, and fuck if I don’t feel my face heat. At my expression, she adds, “Sponge baths, remember? Couldn’t let you lay around with swamp crotch. I happen to know chafing can be just as irritating and painful as a serious injury.”

The smile she gives me then is infectious. “Well, what about you? This whole adventure started because you were the one who needed a shower,” I remind her, completely joking.

She grins, a wicked glint in her beautiful brown doe eyes. “You trying to get me naked, big guy?”

“At least I’m being a little more subtle about it than you are,” I say with a chuckle, squeezing her hands lightly.

She seems to think about something for a minute, and then the look of decision crosses her perfect features. “Deal. If you let me stay and make sure you don’t fall and crack open your coconut, then I’ll wash up here with you. I mean, it’s only fair. I’ve seen yours, so I’ll show you mine.”

My jaw drops before I catch myself. “I was only kidding.”

“I’m not,” she states.

“But… someone could—”

“Nah, I’ve pretty much caught on to the routine around here the past few days. We’re good. And even if someone did come in, I’m only helping you get showered. It’s not like we’re fucking.”

The word coming out of her sweet-looking mouth sends every pint of blood in my body straight to my cock.

I’ve never in my life been around a woman like Clarice. She has more confidence in her pinky toe than the two women I’ve dated had in their whole bodies combined. And I know this for certain as she wiggles her hands loose from mine and stands on her tiptoes, her body pressing into mine as she reaches behind my neck. I hold my breath as she unties the gown that barely hangs past my balls, feeling her softness against all my hard plains, and I don’t move a muscle as she pulls it down my arms. As I still hold onto the wall, the gown ends up bunched around that wrist, and I barely have time to toss it out of the stall before she closes the curtain, shutting us inside.

Her hands go to the front of her filthy brown T-shirt, tugging it out of the waistband of her even dirtier khaki cargo pants before lifting it over her head. She drops the pants to the floor, and it’s then I notice she must’ve already been barefoot hanging out with me in my room. The thought warms me for some reason, liking the idea of her getting comfortable and making herself at home in my space.