If the sutures weren’t driving him crazy, infuriating him when he was already pissed off, he would tell Josie to stay at the beach and he would just retreat into his condo alone. He couldn’t think. He was churning with emotion over his mother and her impending marriage, the way he’d almost accidentally hurt his niece, and the look of Josie playing in the water and how it had done painful things to his chest.
He shoved his front door open and held it for her. “Let me grab a pair of scissors.”
Rummaging around in his kitchen, he searched while she stood in the foyer.
“I’m dripping on your tiles.”
Glancing over at her, he said exactly what he was thinking, not bothering to worry about the consequences. “That’s because you’re wearing that huge T-shirt. Take it off.”
“But...” The word sailed out of her mouth in a breathy voice.
Houston watched her practicality war with her modesty. She had a bikini on under there and he wanted to see it. He hoped practical would win.
It did.
As his hands closed over the scissors, she stripped off the shirt, leaving her curvaceous body covered by nothing but a strategically placed palm tree or two. Damn, he wanted to pluck himself a coconut.
He took a step towards her.
“Scissors?” She held out her hand, having tossed her wet shirt out onto his front step.
Right. His itchy, irritated leg. Not unlike the rest of him.
A minute later he was seated on his couch, his leg on the coffee table while Josie perched next to it. Bending over him, she ran her fingers across the evenness of her stitching.
Houston knew from a medical standpoint the wounds had healed well. The skin looked tight and shiny pink and with a little luck and some aloe, the scars would fade in time.
It wasn’t his leg that worried him, that kept him up at night, and chewed a hole in his gut. It would heal and he didn’t care even if there was scarring. A cute little smile was tugging at the corner of Josie’s mouth.
“Why exactly are you smiling?” he said, gripping the arm of the couch as she started cutting and pulling the first set of sutures.
“I’m admiring my work. Have you ever seen such straight sutures in your life?”
He grimaced at the pressure as she worked. “I didn’t stop to think about it.”
She snipped and pulled. “You’re really lucky, you know. For a lot of reasons, besides having me stitch you up, that is. I mean, here you are, a week and a half later, none the worse for the wear, your leg almost completely healed.”
Houston knew that Josie spoke without thinking. That to her, she looked at his leg, saw it was healing, and did consider him lucky. Maybe he should, too, when he thought about the alternatives of being bit by a shark. Like losing his leg or his life.
But his splinted hand lay in his lap and the intense frustration rose palpable in him again, a living breathing anger so that hecouldn’t stop himself from speaking tightly. “Too bad I can’t say the same thing for my hand.”
Josie looked up, green eyes stricken. “Houston, I’m sorry, I didn’t think. It was a thoughtless thing to say. I’m notorious for sticking my foot in my mouth.”
Her fingers stroked across his leg, bringing him immeasurable and frightening comfort. He wanted to sink into Josie, into her warmth and compassion and cheerful optimism and rest there for a minute. Let down his guard and relax his shoulders.
“It wasn’t a thoughtless thing to say. You’ve been…great. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.” It was mortifying to realize it was true. “I shouldn’t have made you uncomfortable.”
Her face fell in relief and a grin turned up the corner of her generous mouth. “I’m getting used to it.”
He gave a snort of laughter. “Josie, I...”Want you, need you, possibly love you, will you strip and stay naked with me for the rest of my life?
He buried his head in his hand for a minute, smoothing out his eyebrows before forcing himself to meet her curious gaze. “I want you to understand why I’m the way I am, why I have trouble getting close to people. My mom saying she’s getting married today—it really threw me. You see, my father abused my mother, until he did us all a favor and left when I was fifteen.”
Those words had never crossed his lips in his thirty-three years of life, and he was ashamed at the catch in his voice.
He didn’t know what he expected Josie to say, maybe out of pity or horror, but it wasn’t what she did. With a nod of her head, she leaned closer to him, touching his knee with her soft fingers, her sweet warm scent surrounding him.
“I lost my father, too, at fifteen. It made me so angry.”