There was a time in his life that Nix would have just as soon punched my lights out for talking to him that way, but he only drags his hand through his long hair in frustration.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was out of line. I just don’t want to see you hurt. You’re like a brother to me and I protect what’s mine.”
The anger deflates out of me and the tension leaves my shoulders. Standing from the chair, I clap a hand on his shoulder. “I know, man, and I love you for it. But this is a little different situation.”
“How so?” Emily asks.
“First... I’m not dating her and have no intentions of doing so. It was just a really interesting situation, and it’s a very temporary sort of help.”
Picking my coffee cup back up, I take another sip and then proceed to tell them the entire story of how I met Rowan Page. I speak in impersonal tones, so they don’t even catch a whiff of the fact that my interest in Rowan isn’t completely professional. Those gray eyes don’t just haunt me anymore, they’ve perked an interest in me that has me looking at her as a woman, and not as a victim.
But I’m not about to let them know that. I lay out the scenario, and assure them that I just want to help get her on her feet. I don’t hold back about the fact that she could be in danger so they understand that Rowan is truly in a bad situation and needs help.
By the time I’m finished, there’s no doubt in my mind Emily would have taken her in had I not. She rushes upstairs to pull together a few outfits that Rowan can borrow until I can buy her some new clothes.
Once she’s gone, Nix turns to me. “I’m really sorry for bringing Marney up.”
“It’s okay. I’ve been told I have a hero complex on more than one occasion.”
“With good reason, buddy. But just remember... you don’t have to fix everything. It’s not your responsibility to save the world.”
Fuck if I don’t know the truth of that statement, but it doesn’t stop me from trying my damnedest anyway.
I return back to my apartment with a very satisfied feeling that I’m making progress toward helping Rowan get back on her feet. I unlock the door and step in to silence. My first thought? It’s too quiet, and I’m immediately thinking that she’s left.
When I shut the door, she immediately calls out, “Flynn... is that you?”
“Yeah,” I answer and walk back toward her voice.
When I get to the bathroom, I look in and find her bent over the tub, scrubbing it out. And, yeah... because I’m a man, the first thing I notice is how slammin’ her ass looks all perked up into the air. It’s not something I had noticed before because my clothes are so damn big on her, and there was never any opportunity to notice her shape.
And what a shape it is, with my gym shorts pulled tight against her.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask.
She looks over her shoulder at me, her bangs hanging over her eyes. Blowing a puff of breath up to get them out of the way, she gives me a stern look. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m cleaning the scum out of your tub that clearly hasn’t been cleaned in years.”
Grinning at her, I shrug my shoulders. “It’s a known fact... single men are slobs.”
“You can say that again,” she says, and then turns around to continue scrubbing.
“You really don’t have to do that though... you’re my guest.”
She doesn’t even bother looking back at me. “Don’t even go there. We have an agreement. If I stay here, I need to earn my keep.”
Keeping my eyes pinned on her ass, I tell her, “Fine. I won’t say another word.”
She doesn’t respond and I lean up against the bathroom door, shamelessly ogling while I can.
“Are you looking at my ass?” Her tone is still hard, a Rowan Page trait, but if I’m not mistaken, there is a miniscule amount of teasing in it. It catches me off guard for just a second. So far, Rowan has been closed off, moody, and distrustful. I would never have thought she’d have the ability to tease. It actually lightens my mood even more.
“Yup. Busted me.”
I can hear her snicker and then she says, “Well, do something more useful and go put away those weeks’ worth of dishes I washed for you in the kitchen.”
“Sure thing. But when you’re done, I’ve got some clothes for you to wear and I thought we’d go out shopping for some more.”
Her scrubbing motion stops and I can see tension stiffen her shoulders. “Fine, but we need to make a stop first so I can get my money.”
“You got it.” I give one last wistful look at her ass, and head toward the kitchen.
I’m just putting up the last dish when Rowan walks in. When I look at her, I’m surprised by how lovely she looks. Now that her hair is clean and dry, it lends a new level of attractiveness to her. She has it cut so the ends just drag the tops of her shoulders but lays in shaggy lengths with long bangs that angle over one side of her face. The look is carefree and wistful. Coupled with her delicately boned face, she looks like a fairy pixie having stepped straight out of a fantasy movie. It’s very at odds with the hard life that I believe she’s had.
Pointing to the plastic bag on the table, I tell her, “There are a few outfits and some shoes in there.”
She opens the bag and pulls out a blouse laying on top. It’s dove gray and looks to be made of silk. It matches her eyes perfectly, which is an odd coincidence that Emily would choose it.
Rowan holds it up against her body and looks down at it. When she looks back up at me, her nose wrinkles in distaste. “It’s a little fancy, don’t you think?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” I tell her. The minute the words are out, I know they were a mistake.
Her eyes turn dark... the color of dirty steel, and she actually bares her teeth at me before she snarls, “I’m not a fucking beggar and I told you I don’t need your help.”
She throws the silk shirt back in the bag and storms down the hallway to the spare bedroom.
I’m stunned stupid for just a minute and then I take off after her. Rounding the corner of the bedroom door, I skid to a halt, mesmerized by the sight before me.
Rowan is jerking my t-shirt over her head and she throws it angrily to the floor. Her back is to me but I can see the curve of her breast from the side, and while I want to be captivated by the half-naked sight of a beautiful woman, I’m immediately dismayed when she reaches over and picks up the surgical scrub top that she had neatly folded and laid beside the bed.
“What are you doing?”
She doesn’t answer me immediately and apparently has no shame, because she turns to me and I have a momentary flash of two perfect breasts before she’s yanking the scrub top over her head. “I’m leaving—what does it look like?”
Her hands start working at the drawstring tie around my shorts she’s wearing and I leap forward, taking hold of her hands to stop her action. “Wait... please, just wait.”
Her hands still and she looks up at me. Her eyes are still dark and filled with fury. She doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, Rowan. I didn’t mean anything at all by that statement. It was just a cliché that popped out, but I don’t think of you as a beggar.”
She regards me for a moment and while I’m happy to see her eyes lighten up a shade, her tone is frosty. “I don’t take handouts, Flynn. Not from you... not from anyone. I stand on my own.”
“I got it,” I hastily assure her. “Seriously... I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Her eyes pin me and we wage a silent staring war. This woman standing before me... I wonder what has happened in her life to make her so averse to getting help from others. It makes me a little leery over the fact that I just really want to help her. I will have to be careful so that she doesn’t see me giving her a handout, but rather a hand up. Even then, she’s going to insist on repaying me in some way for that hand up.