Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Going to Bed Together

1/2 <3 K.

They finished their brekkie - each had eaten an omelette, and Rhys had also indulged in two massive scones from Miss Rosa's - and Viola rose.

"I can do the washing up," she said. "But just this once obviously, only because you're injured."

He chuckled. Viola saw that he was pale, and deep shadows lay under his eyes. She put a glass of water and his painkillers in front of him. He swallowed them right away.

"You should take a shower," he said with a wide yawn. "I'd like one myself afterwards."

"Are you sure?" she asked, putting the plates in the technological marvel that was his dishwasher. "Maybe you should go straight to bed."

"I want to wash off the river water," he muttered and rubbed his face with his right hand. "And the hospital."

"Then you should go first," she said. "And please, don't lock the door. I promise not to perv through a crack."

He laughed weakly, and she threw him a concerned look over.

"How bad is your shoulder that you aren't making a saucy joke remark now?" she drew out and stepped to him. "Let me help you up." He leaned into her, without holding back. He was right, he did smell like a hospital. You'd think, you of all people would be OK with it, Viola. "Head to the bathroom and let me dig through your clothes," she said softly. "I'll bring you something downstairs."

He nodded, and she walked him to the bathroom. Upstairs, his bedroom was just as disorderly as she imagined. While she was opening the doors and drawers in his wardrobe, she stepped on a tee on the floor, and picked it up. Her sensitive nose caught the smell of detergent and his cologne. That's why his mess didn't bother her, she realised. The chaos in the room didn't feel filthy. She put the shirt on a large armchair in the corner. She'd already found a pair of lounge bottoms and a tee, which left the question of underwear. She suddenly laughed. Following Rhys' logic she might as well search for a pair of pants in his garage. By the wall, she saw a laundry basket, and upon inspection she decided it was filled with clean laundry, including a few pairs of boxer briefs. Going down his glass-panelled staircase, she nodded to her thoughts: it seemed the new Viola was quite alright existing - at least for a short period of time - in his cluttered and disarrayed home.

She knocked on the bathroom door, and heard his voice, allowing her in. She came in, keeping her eyes to the floor. He had one of those shower enclosures in the corner, where the tray was level with the floor. It was large, definitely capable of fitting more than one person. Suddenly, a tsunami of some sort of porn-worthy images flashed through her mind, and Viola's cheeks flushed.

"I brought you some clothes," she said, pleased to hear that her voice sounded just as even as usual.

The water stopped running, and she heard him move, and the glass of the enclosure shook, making a quiet noise. The air in the bathroom was hot and damp, filled with the sharp fresh smell of his shower gel.

"Vi, I think– I need your help," he muttered - and her eyes flew up.

He stood inside the enclosure, leaning against the glass with his healthy shoulder. She could see he was hardly standing. She grabbed a towel off a hook and stepped to him.

"Shit, sorry," he muttered, opening the door. "I just– The painkillers kicked in, and I–"

"It's alright," she said, handing him a towel.

He couldn't wrap it around his hips with one hand, and she helped him catch another end, still somehow managing to look only at his chest. Not that it's helping in any way. Seriously, Viola? The man's half dead! How's this a good time for your libido to wake up? She then took another towel, and started carefully drying his torso. Water trickled off his hair. Viola picked up the end of the first towel out of his hand, and tucked it behind his waist. His skin as if scalded her knuckles. It was hard to breathe, and she chastised herself for this shockingly unprofessional behaviour.