Warm.
Not piping hot, or even bathwater-cozy, but comfortable enough to tempt her. Emma’s face and hands were dirty again. Their clothes were filthy. Chloe felt like a limp rag, her hair stinking of smoke. She wanted to wash her entire body.
Mateo called down at her from the terrace. He was holding up a pair of towels.
“Quieres?”
“Sí,”
she said, answering in Spanish without thinking. “Soap?”
He shook his head in confusion.
She set down Emma and rubbed her hands together. When that didn’t work, she mimed washing her armpits. “Soap,” she said again. “Bath.”
He must have gotten the message, because he left the patio and joined them a moment later with beauty products. Shampoo, soap, towels. He uncovered the spa completely and stuck his hand in the water, his eyes sparkling.
“Swim,” Emma insisted. “Me swim!”
“Sí, mamita,”
Mateo said, laughing again. It was the same endearment he’d used for Chloe, so it must not mean anything sexy.
Damn.
He sat down to remove his boots and socks. Chloe followed suit, wondering how she was going to bathe in front of him. He clearly wasn’t suffering from shyness, because he tugged off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, dropping them in a flash. But then, he was still wearing his soccer shorts underneath.
Instead of easing into the spa, he took a running leap toward the big pool, did a flip in midair and landed with a terrific splash. He didn’t even test the water first. When he surfaced, grinning at Emma, she squealed in delight.
She was enthralled by him. Chloe knew exactly how she felt.
“Ven,”
he said, extending his arms to Emma.
Chloe took off Emma’s shoes and checked her diaper, which was clean. Then she let Emma go toward the pool in her clothes. Both could get clean at once. She watched as Mateo grasped Emma under the arms and lowered her into the water. It must have been cold, but she didn’t scream. He dipped her up and down, making her giggle.
They cruised around the pool for a couple of minutes, no more. Chloe watched them from the edge. When Emma started to shiver, he sent her back to Chloe, despite her protests. Chloe pointed Emma to the spa instead. She brought the soap and towels along. Emma got in and splashed around. Chloe longed to join her.
While she contemplated removing her jeans, Mateo pushed off the side and climbed out of the pool. She tried not to stare at his wet muscles, or notice the way his soaked white soccer shorts clung to his…thighs. She failed on both counts. What was he wearing under those shorts, a jock strap?
He grabbed a towel and looped it around his neck, asking her a question in Spanish.
She dragged her gaze up to his face, with difficulty. He gestured toward the spa, repeating himself. Was she going in?
Chloe looked down at her jeans, uncertain.
It must have dawned on him that she needed privacy. He strode over to a nearby lounge chair and stretched out on his back. Tucking his hands beneath his head, he closed his eyes. His torso was smooth and sleek, his skin bronzed. Chloe peeked at him for another few seconds, studying the dark tufts of hair under his arms.
Pulse racing, she fumbled with her zipper. Why was she checking out his armpits? He was a man. He had body hair. There was nothing noteworthy about it. Armpit hair wasn’t supposed to be sexy. It was just…there.
She stood to wiggle out of her jeans, wincing at the ache in her leg. While she was struggling with the fabric, distracted by her strange fascination with Mateo, Emma slipped underwater. Chloe jumped into the spa with her pants around her ankles and grabbed Emma by the back of the shirt. Emma came up, sputtering.
“Están bien?”
Mateo asked.
Chloe hugged Emma to her chest while Emma cried. “We’re fine,” Chloe called out, waving off his concerns. She was lucky she hadn’t fallen in and broken her other leg. Emma calmed quickly and squirmed to be released.
“Be careful,” Chloe said, setting her on the underwater bench. “Hold on to the side.”
“I hold on,” Emma promised.
Chloe sat down and finished peeling off her jeans. She decided to bathe Emma first. Singing her bathtime song, Chloe removed Emma’s wet clothes and shampooed her hair. When Emma was clean, Chloe glanced toward Mateo again. He was soaking up the last rays of the setting sun, eyes closed.
It was now or never. She stripped down to her underwear and sank into the water. Her bandage was already soaked, so she submerged fully. She soaped her armpits, which weren’t sexy in the least, and washed between her legs. On impulse, she whisked off her panties and gave them a scrub. She was working shampoo into her hair when Emma climbed over the edge and went streaking across the patio, giggling.
Chloe couldn’t run after her—she had no panties on! “Come back here right now,” she said in a stern voice, which Emma ignored.
Mateo grabbed a towel and chased after her, scooping her up easily. Then he pretended to nibble on her bare arms, monsterlike. Smiling, he carried her toward the spa. Chloe sank deeper into the water, which felt lukewarm now. Lukewarm and transparent.
His gaze moved from Chloe’s sudsy hair and wet bra to the wadded-up ball of panties on the side of the spa. He didn’t come closer. He just wrapped Emma up in the towel and kept her, waiting as Chloe hastily rinsed her hair.
She scrambled to put on her panties under the water, face flaming. Then she held a towel to the front of her body as she stepped out of the spa. Mateo seemed amused by her modesty. Maybe everyone in Panama was a free-spirit nudist. Tucking the terry cloth around her chest, she went to retrieve Emma.
“Thank you,” Chloe said, embarrassed.
“No problem.”
God, his accent. His smile. His
body
. Flustered, she glanced around for the backpack with their extra clothes. He must have left it in the room, because she didn’t see it. She wondered if he wanted to go in the spa to wash up. He probably didn’t care that much. The dip in the pool had looked refreshing enough, and he seemed content. So did Emma. She sucked her fingers and rested her head against his shoulder. Not reaching for Chloe.
An hour earlier, Chloe had been touched by the sight of Emma holding Mateo’s hand. Now their easy bond disturbed her.
Emma had never been shy around people. She’d grown close to Josh in a short time, and she often chatted with strangers. But this situation was different. Chloe’s feelings for Mateo weren’t brotherly.
She hadn’t dated since her breakup with Lyle, for good reason. Over the past year, she’d been focused on healing herself and taking care of Emma. She didn’t know if she wanted her daughter to get attached to a strange man.
Especially a man Chloe knew nothing about. One who wasn’t from here, and might not stick around.
Mateo carried Emma to the lounge chair and set her down. He said something in Spanish and pointed to the second-floor terrace. Chloe clutched the towel to her chest, shivering. As he walked away in his wet shorts, she identified his underwear as basic white briefs. Both layers were soaked to near transparency.
Goodness.
Chloe had never seen a man in tighty whiteys before. The few boys she’d been with before Lyle had worn baggy boxers. Lyle preferred skinny jeans with no underwear at all, which was pretty gross. Maybe Mateo’s briefs offered more support for athletic activities. Soccer had apparently developed his butt into a work of art.
She sat down with Emma, remembering how his body had felt against hers this morning. His erection nudging her bottom. His thumb brushing her nipple.
“Milk,” Emma said, patting Chloe’s chest.
This request extinguished all of her sexy thoughts like a cold splash. “No milk.”
“Hungwy.”
“We’ll have a snack as soon as we get dressed.”
Mateo reappeared with the backpack and handed it to Chloe. She found the teddy bear, which Emma threw down on the ground in a fit of pique. Chloe wrestled Emma into a diaper and a clean T-shirt while Mateo stood nearby.
Emma wasn’t very cooperative, and Chloe’s towel slipped down to her waist. To her surprise, Mateo stepped in to take the squirming child off Chloe’s hands. He picked up the teddy bear and tried to distract her.
Emma flung it into the pool. He laughed at her antics and retrieved it.
Shaking her head, Chloe donned the yoga pants and T-shirt she’d tucked away for herself. She offered him his soccer jersey. He thanked her and put it on. After she laid out their wet clothes to dry, they went inside to raid the café. There was bread with butter, canned corn and garbanzo beans. It wasn’t a gourmet meal, and the kitchen smelled sour, but the chocolate chip cookies they ate for dessert were very tasty.
After dinner, Emma got cranky again, which was typical tired-toddler behavior. Chloe hobbled upstairs with her cane to put Emma to bed. The room was a double, with snowy white pillows and plump comforters. Emma crawled into the blankets with her damp teddy bear. Chloe stroked her daughter’s hair until she fell asleep.
Chloe straightened to study Emma, who looked so sweet and angelic in repose. Her little mouth was pursed, curly hair in disarray. Even on bad days, Chloe’s love for her daughter grew. The tantrums and trials brought them closer together. She tucked a blanket around Emma and kissed her chubby cheek. When Chloe rose, she found Mateo watching her. He’d put the first-aid supplies on the table.
She crossed her arms over her chest, anxious. Her bandage needed to be changed, but she wasn’t eager for him to do it. His doctoring skills left a lot to be desired.
She lowered her yoga pants carefully and sat down in a chair by the table. He didn’t insist on helping her take off the old bandage. She put it aside, noting the stained material. Her thigh was discolored with bruises, the laceration ugly. It needed more than a Band-Aid, but she’d have to make do. She smeared some antibiotic ointment on squares of gauze and secured it to her leg with heavy white tape.
When she was finished, Mateo gestured to the clock radio beside the bed. She nodded her permission. Emma was a very sound sleeper. He fidgeted with the channels at a low volume until he found a clear station. Chloe listened to the emergency information with interest. The entire city was under evacuation. Survivors had been advised to head east on foot. Recovery efforts were underway, but access to the affected areas was limited. The closest shelter was the football stadium, miles beyond Balboa Park.
Chloe’s heart sank at the news. What if the naval hospital was deserted? They’d have an even longer journey tomorrow.
Mateo put away the first-aid supplies and took out the map, spreading it across the table. She pointed to the football stadium. He put his finger on the hospital first, and then moved it to the stadium. She agreed to this plan.
The radio station switched from harsh warnings to soft music, as if playing nostalgic songs might ease some of the world’s suffering.
Mateo folded the map, staring at the remnants of the sunset through the open patio doors. The sky was brilliant again, a rapidly fading haze of orange fire and salmon pink.
“Regreso,”
he said, leaving the room.
He came back with a surprise: two candles, two wineglasses and a bottle. Her stomach fluttered with a mixture of delight and dismay. She was thrilled by the thoughtful gesture, disappointed she couldn’t partake.
When he set the glasses and candles on the table, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t drink wine.”
“No?”
“No.”
He muttered something under his breath, maybe a mild criticism of her failure to enjoy the finer things in life, such as red meat and fine liquor. Before she could tell him to go ahead and drink the wine, he left again, returning with Perrier.
She lifted her glass and smiled.
He poured sparkling water into both glasses. It wasn’t cold, and it didn’t taste that great, but she felt classy. He lit the candles and took the seat across from her. Slow, melancholy music continued to play on the radio. Songs of unrequited love, she imagined. Last night she’d joked that she’d never been on such a fancy date. This topped it. Drinking tepid Perrier by candlelight with an apocalypse view.
She should have felt letdown by the realization that this was her most romantic moment. Somehow, she didn’t.
“I need a fancy dress,” she said lightly.
His face brightened with an idea. Standing, he walked over to the closet and opened it, as if he’d forgotten something inside. There was a dark suit hanging on the rack, along with a garment bag. The room’s inhabitants must have left the items behind. Chloe rose from the table to join him, smothering a giggle. He unzipped the garment bag. It contained a gorgeous champagne-colored gown, several sizes too large for her.
Mateo grabbed the suit and held it up to his body, wagging his brows. It wasn’t his size, either, but he didn’t appear to care.
“Should we try them on?” she asked, scandalized.
He didn’t have to say anything, because she already knew his answer: yes.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
J
OSH DIDN’T THINK
Helena appreciated his valiant rescue.
When he saw the badger go after her, he’d reacted on instinct. His attempt to grab the animal by the scruff had backfired. Instead of thanking him for trying, she’d scolded him and treated him like he was stupid.
He
was
stupid. But that was beside the point.
Blood trickled down his left arm and dripped from his fingertips as he and Helena exited the ruins of the shop. He wiped his hand against his thigh in annoyance. The bites hurt—that little fucker had sharp teeth—and Helena’s indifference added insult to injury.
“I’ll drive,” she said.
He fished the keys out of his pocket with a wince. The honey badger weighed about twenty pounds, tops. He felt as if he’d gone a few rounds with a grizzly. His arms were scratched raw and chewed to shreds. Now that the adrenaline had started to wear off, he was woozy. His knees wobbled as he opened the passenger door and eased into the seat. That was all he needed, to faint after being attacked by a glorified rodent.