Intimate Exposure. Simona Taylor

I’ll be fine.”

      Then he had the pleasure of seeing her fingers rise to her lips again as she remembered their kiss. Watching her color up, evidence of how much she’d enjoyed it, made him feel less predatory. Maybe calling a moratorium on kissing her had been a tad hasty… . .

      Shani went quickly to her daughter’s bedside, anxiety wiping away the memory of last night’s pleasurable interlude. That piqued him some, but women were women: their kids always came first. He gave his ego a kick in the pants and hurried to join her.

      “Nurses passed by while you were asleep—”

      “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

      “No need. The whole thing went down in about ninety seconds. They checked her vitals—she’s down to one-oh-one—and said she was doing fine. She’ll sleep for a while, though.”

      “Still, you could’ve—”

      “You were tired.”

      She touched her hair, which had abandoned any pretense of being in a bun, and now fell to the tops of her shoulders. He liked the way it looked, all chestnutty and mussed. He resisted the urge to touch a strand.

      “Do I look tired? My face isn’t creased, is it? God, I must be a mess.” She bent over to yank her skirt down over her well-shaped butt, giving him a shot all the way down the top of her dress. “This thing’s riding up on me like Paul Revere. Damn Yvan and his stupid tight uniforms.”

      Bless Yvan and his tight uniforms, he thought, but was too smart to say it out loud. He watched her finger-comb her hair and smooth herself down, a little feminine vanity that made him feel flattered. She wanted to make herself presentable, sure, but he knew that there was also a kernel of desire to look good for him. Nice. “You look fine. But if it’d make you feel better, why don’t you let me take you back home so you can have a quick shower and change?”

      She looked at him as if he’d blasphemed. “I’m not leaving here until my daughter does.”

      “Which won’t be for another day or two,” he reminded her.

      She shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to walk around looking like I slept in a cardboard box.”

      He didn’t try to dissuade her, but he offered an alternative. “Well, they’ve got hospitality rooms where parents can go have a shower and change. How ‘bout I run over to your place and pick you up some fresh clothes?”

      She looked doubtful, even though the prospect of clean clothes was sweet. “I don’t know …”

      “You don’t have to let me root through your private stuff. Why not call your sitter.” He searched for her name.

      “Gina?”

      “Right. Why not call Gina, have her pack a bag for you and Béatrice, and then I’ll bring it for you?”

      The tempting offer found its mark. “You’d do that?”

      “Sure.”

      She frowned slightly, eyes searching his face. “Why?” Good question, but he didn’t have an answer. He shrugged.

      “That would be … very kind. I’ll call her.” She fished around in her bag for her phone.

      Speaking of the need for a shower, he was getting a little pungent himself. He handed her his card. “If you need anything else, call. I’ll go home now. Catch some shut-eye, maybe. Then I’ll swing by later with your stuff. Need breakfast before I go?”

      “Thanks, but I can sneak away before she wakes up and get a sandwich in the cafeteria.”

      He smiled, remembering last night’s hot dog, which still resided somewhere behind his breastbone. “Good luck with that. I’ll bring you lunch. Anything you don’t eat?”

      “No, I eat pretty much everything.” She rolled her eyes and added, “'Cept maybe liver.”

      “That never entered my mind.” He tossed aside his makeshift toga and found his shirt, a stinky ball of fabric that was taking on a life of its own in a corner. “You’ll be all right till I get back?”

      “I’ll be fine.” The resolution in her voice was as much for her own reassurance as for his.

      “Good. Won’t be gone long.” He hesitated. Now that he was leaving, how should he say goodbye? A handshake hardly seemed appropriate. He’d kissed her, long and hard, mere hours ago. Should he …? No. He’d promised himself. That would be like shooting fish in the shallow end of the pond.

      She seemed to be wondering the same thing. She swallowed hard. “Elliot …”

      He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers and all but ran out of there.

       Chapter 7

      “One fish, two fish,” Elliot was saying.

      “Red fish, blue fish!” Bee finished and yowled with delight. Shani watched as he perched on the edge of Bee’s bed and read from her favorite Dr. Seuss book … or, rather, as she constantly interrupted him to parrot passages she’d memorized. He was doing a decent job of sounding fascinated, even as he heard the story of Ned and his little bed for the eighth time.