“You know, I really like your hair like this.”

“You do?” he asked, perplexed.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “It’s gorgeous, but it’s in need of a wash. What kind of sink does Marina have in her camper?”

King shrugged. “I don’t know. Never really noticed.”

“Well, do you think she’d mind if we used her bathroom for a half-hour to wash your hair?”

He narrowed his gaze. “You want to wash my hair?”

“Yes, Oliver, I do. Now, do you think she’d mind?”

Shaking his head and exhaling heavily, he answered, “No, she won’t mind.”

“Good. Come on, then,” I said, and gestured for him to follow.

I led the way to the back of the circus where the mobile homes were stationed, feeling King’s curious gaze on me as he walked a foot or two behind. I was wearing jeans again, and my spidey senses went on alert. I could practically feel him checking out my arse. He always used to do it before, and the thought gave me a rush of excitement. Any small sign of the old him was cause for optimism. When we reached Marina’s camper, he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a key to unlock the door. I let him lead the way inside as he walked to the bathroom.

“It’s a bit small,” he said, looking around.

I brushed off his comment and began rolling up my sleeves, sensing his apprehension. He was radiating want and…whatever the opposite of want was, like he was dying for me to wash his hair but at the same time dying for me not to. I understood. He wasn’t used to people touching him these days, and if my gut feeling was right, he wasn’t used to washing, either. He’d been living like a hobo, but I planned to gently guide him back into the land of soap and water. It was of the utmost importance.

I saw him pull a small packet from his jeans as I went to grab one of the chairs from Marina’s kitchen table, and then he popped something in his mouth.

“What was that?” I asked, carrying the chair into the bathroom and setting it down in front of the sink.

“A mint. Jack said I should suck on them so that I have something to do with my mouth.”

His words were said without any sexual undertones whatsoever, but still, they got my mind wandering to places it had no business wandering. I remembered him going down on me, the heavenly skill of his lips and tongue. He’d been really, really good at that. Blinking, I shook myself back to the present.

“Oh, right,” I said, looking away and sticking the stopper in the sink before turning on the hot tap and letting it fill.

“He says it will keep me occupied, so that I don’t think about having a drink.”

“Huh. That’s actually a good idea. Is it working?”

He lifted his shoulders. “A little.”

“Come here,” I said, gesturing to the chair. “Sit.”

Warily, he stepped inside the tiny bathroom, and I realised he was right, it was small. It felt even smaller with the two of us inside and a warm, tingling heat began to creep its way to the surface of my skin. King sat down as instructed, then stared up at me, waiting for what I was going to do next. My black shirt had a sweetheart neckline; it was modest enough, but it showed a hint of cleavage, and I was distinctly aware of King’s eyes resting there. Then he glanced up, saw I’d caught him, and looked away.

“You’re allowed to look at me, you know,” I said, picking up a bottle of shampoo.

He continued to stare at his lap, a frown causing his brows to furrow. What he said next made my heart hurt. “I wasn’t sure if…you’d find it distasteful to have someone like me looking.”

“Hey,” I whispered fervently. He glanced up slowly. “I like it when you look.”

He swallowed and his eyes grew dark, wanting. I swallowed, too, and set the shampoo down on the edge of the sink for when I needed it. I turned off the tap, then brought my hands to his shoulders. “Just lean back a little,” I said quietly.

He did exactly as I asked, and my eyes fixed on the masculine line of his throat when he reclined. It was kind of sexy. I slipped a towel around his shoulders so as not to get his clothes wet. Then I filled a jug with warm water and lifted it above his head before pouring it over his hair. I repeated the process several times, King watching my every move like it was fascinating. Grabbing the shampoo, I poured some into my open palm, then sank my hands into his hair, massaging it in and creating a lather. King exhaled heavily as I dug my fingers into his scalp, massaging.

I saw his throat move, his blue eyes bright as he stared up at me. They dipped to my chest for a moment, and I let him look his fill. I wanted him to know I found nothing distasteful about his attention, that I wanted it, relished it. Leaning forward, I worked the lather through to the ends, which brought me closer to him, my breast brushing his cheek ever so slightly. He seemed to struggle for a moment, his hand clenching into a fist. I was struggling just as much, trying to concentrate on washing his hair rather than the fact that I wished he’d touch me. Run his hand up my thigh, maybe lean close and nuzzle his nose against my collarbone.

The room was way too silent, but I didn’t want this to end. Being close to him, touching him, felt intimate, and I wanted to make it last as long as possible.

“Do you remember the first time you caught me having lunch in your office bathroom?” I asked in an effort to make conversation.

He gave me a warm smile, and I swear the heat of it thawed my lonely bones. “How could I forget?”