Her eyes burned and not from just the smoke. Her throat wouldn’t work. She was an inch from falling apart, with no idea how to put the pieces back together, she could only shake her head. “You don’t have to stay. I’m good.”

Had there been warmth and tenderness in his eyes only a moment before? It was all gone now. “Yeah, you’re good. You’re good on your own,” he said, his stance deceptively relaxed, his anger tautly controlled. “Too good, I’m thinking. But I’m not leaving you alone tonight, I’m not running. Do you understand? I’m hanging right here.” He backed up to the door and crossed his arms over his chest, his gun on his hip, looking big, bad, pissed, and stubborn to boot.

And no less sexy for it either. Feeling like a mess such as she did, she resented that, she really did. “Stay, leave,” she shrugged. “I don’t care.”

But she did, so very much. If he left now, she’d fall apart. “I’m taking a bath.” Gingerly, she hopped down from the counter. Lifting her chin rather than whimper at the contact, she pushed off her skirt, then pulled off her shirt. She ignored his low, choked oath, though the rough sound of it made her nipples hard. Standing there in a sports bra and panties, she turned her back to him and bent over to turn on the tub.

He swore again.

It did something to her temper, turned it into a smug sort of womanly power, which only increased when she slowly added bubbles to the water. Oh yeah, if she was miserable, then she’d make sure he joined her in that misery. The scent of cocoa butter began to override the smoke she couldn’t get out of her nose. Still facing away, she pulled off her bra and kicked off her panties. Then she spun around for a washcloth, making sure Joe got the full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view before stepping into the tub.

Given the pained sound that escaped him, the way his eyes landed and skimmed over all of her, including the belly ring, she had success. Woo hoo. She sank down beneath the water, and abruptly forgot all about being a sex kitten because her cuts burned like fire.

He squatted next to her, mouth tight and grim. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” she said as the bubbles made their way up to her chin.

His eyes never left hers. They were dark and scorching. “You know you’re torturing me, right?”

She lifted her arm and put a dab of bubbles on his nose. “Yes.”

He stared at her, so fierce, so serious. With bubbles on his nose.

The phone rang, shattering the silence. Blowing out a breath, he rose to his feet and left the bathroom.