The washcloth was soothing and cool against Genevieve’s heated flesh. It blocked out the world and gave her a place to hide. And in that place she was able to calm down.
Clint’s thumb skimming over the back of her hand made her feel strangely safe. In spite of the kinds of things she knew he enjoyed doing to a woman, and in spite of his family, when he touched her like this, she couldn’t help feeling like everything would be okay.
His voice penetrated the bubble she’d put around herself. “Do you think you can sit up now and let me fix your face?”
He released her when she pulled her hand out of his and pushed herself against the headboard. Reluctantly she pulled the washcloth away. Clint patted her face dry with another piece of gauze. He must have bought stock in a first aid kit manufacturer. Both his home and Angelo’s were like a triage unit.
He didn’t speak as he laid out the items of her makeup bag. She had several concealers and foundations, but she didn’t think he’d know what
