Bedroom Diplomacy. Michelle Celmer

from his fly, it was tough not to watch the action. And for several tense seconds, it wasn’t the cup he thought she was reaching for.

      “Oh, my God. I am so sorry,” Rowena said, looking as though she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. “I can’t believe I just did that. Please tell me that wasn’t hot.”

      He set the cup on the ground beside him. “It was rather cold, actually.”

      She winced, “I didn’t… damage anything down there, did I?”

      He’d managed to catch the cup just in time. “Everything down there is fine.”

      She handed him her towel. “I don’t know how much help this will be.”

      He pushed himself out of the chair, leaning over to inspect the front of his pants, then handed the towel back. “I think it’s pretty hopeless at this point.”

      “For the record, I was moving it because I thought it might spill. And yes, I get the irony.”

      What tea hadn’t soaked into the linen went straight through to his Skivvies. “The staff is going to think I’m off my rocker. Walking in one night in dripping-wet clothes, the next looking as if I soiled myself.”

      She bit her lip, probably to keep from laughing, then said, “I could run up to your room and get you clean pants. Or you could borrow some swim trunks. There are always extras in the pool house. There’s bound to be something that fits.”

      The last thing he needed was her father possibly seeing her walking in or out of his suite. At least here, by the pool, no one could see them. Not without leaving the mansion, which no one seemed to do after dark. “Swim trunks will be fine.”

      “Let’s go look.”

      She rushed to the pool house, opened the door and switched on the lights. In the dark it had looked as if she was wearing a dress. Now he realized it was a cover-up, and underneath she wore… well, hello there, bikini. He wondered if she had worn that purposely, in case he happened to be at the pool again. Didn’t matter either way. She was off-limits.

      “There’s a shelf in the bathroom with extra suits,” she told him. “Take whatever you need.”

      Colin found a pair of trunks close to his size and pulled them off the shelf. He peeled off his wet slacks and boxer briefs, noticing, as the cold wet fabric touched the top of his legs, that the tails of his shirt hadn’t been spared, either. He took that off, too, and pulled the suit on. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Rowena was standing in the kitchen, bent over, looking in the refrigerator with her back to him. The cover-up was hiked up to reveal the very smooth curve of her behind and the backs of her creamy thighs.

      Bloody hell.

      “Found a pair,” he said.

      She straightened and turned, a can of soda in her hand. She looked briefly at the trunks, then her eyes drifted upward.

      Knowing what she was thinking, he said, “My shirt was wet, too.”

      “They’re big,” she said. “The trunks, I mean.”

      “Well, it was these or a Speedo.”

      She opened her mouth to say something, then shook her head as if she’d decided that whatever it was was probably best left unsaid. “Want to split a soda, or would you like something stronger?”

      What he wanted, he couldn’t have. What he needed was a cold shower. And what he had to do was leave.

      And he would leave, just as soon as he finished his drink. “Soda is fine.”

      She pulled two glasses from the cupboard, poured the soda, then added ice.

      She handed him his glass and as their fingertips brushed, he could swear he saw her shiver.

      Okay, enough, he told himself. He shouldn’t even be here. He should have stayed in his room and watched television.

      Do what you came to do.

      “I did a Google search on you,” she said.

      “You did?”

      “I saw your back and I was curious. When my dad said you’re a war hero, I thought he was exaggerating, but you actually are a hero.”

      He shrugged. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

      “With a broken leg, you dragged a man from a burning helicopter. That’s pretty brave, Colin.”

      “The truth is, I don’t recall much of what happened. I remember getting caught in the sandstorm, the chopper going down. I recall being thrown and then looking back at the wreckage. I knew that William was probably still inside. I wasn’t able to stand but being so jacked up on adrenaline, I didn’t even know my leg was mangled. I dragged myself back to the chopper, felt around until I found him.”

      “There was smoke?”

      He nodded. “Yeah, thick black smoke. And dust. Couldn’t see a damn thing. I could hardly breathe. The explosion didn’t happen until I had dragged him about twenty feet away. Then I passed out, but luckily William regained consciousness. He put out the fire on my back and then dragged me a safe distance away. When I woke up, I was in the hospital.”

      “And if you hadn’t pulled him from the helicopter?”

      “He would have burned to death. I was the only chance he had. He would have done the same for me. Easy choice. No choice, really.”

      “I read that he walked away with some burns and a broken arm.”

      “The burns were mostly on his hands and arms, from putting out the fire on me.”

      “He has a wife and four kids.”

      Colin nodded, acknowledging the unstated sentiment. “I know that people have labeled me a hero, but I don’t see it that way. What I did for him, any other soldier would have done for me. It’s just part of the job description.”

      “That doesn’t make it any less heroic.”

      Not in his mind.

      “Will you ever go back into active duty?”

      “Never. With the damage to my leg I would be useless in combat. They gave me a choice. Take a desk job or retire. But I can’t be an outsider looking in. I’m a warrior. Warriors don’t sit behind desks.”

      “So what will you do now?”

      “I have a friend in private security who offered me a job. The only thing holding me back is my leg.”

      “Does it still hurt?”

      “Sometimes.” Almost all the time, but not like before. Right after the surgery it was excruciating. He hadn’t taken anything stronger than ibuprofen in a month.

      “And your back?” she said.

      “It’s sensitive, but not painful.”

      “Can I… touch it?”

      She was playing with fire. And who was more foolish—the fool who started the fire, or the fool who gave her the matches?

      His gaze drifted down to her mouth, her lips full and pink and practically begging to be kissed. Then her tongue darted out to wet them.…

      Bloody hell. He had to stop this now.

      “Rowena.” He set his glass down. “We need to talk.”

      “Is something wrong?”

      “I need to apologize for the other night. And this morning.”

      “Okay.”

      “I was very… forward the other night. I’m afraid I may have given you the wrong impression.”

      “Maybe a little,” she admitted.

      “And