Page 44 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“That works.” I keep studying the muscles on this man. It’s a good distraction from the pain in my feet, pain that’s suddenly getting sharper as my adrenaline fades.

“Yes. That would work.” Gordon holds still, hands outstretched with the towel, unmoving.

“Right. The dress.” I start tugging one arm free.

“The dress.” Gordon closes his eyes and turns his head for good measure.

“Not to make this more awkward,” I grunt, squirming and scooting, trying not to come down onto the tiled floor with a thud on my burnt feet, “but aren’t emergency personnel supposed to do work with their eyes open? Like, how do you know you won’t get shampoo in my eyes if your eyes are closed?”

“I have not figured that out,” Gordon says in a pained voice. “But I have figured out that it is rude to stare at a beautiful woman undressing unless she... Unless the situation is different.”

“The situation is you taking care of me. If you were hurt, I’d take care of you. And... And people in relationships share things like this. It doesn’t have to be sexual. It can be practical.” I keep my voice calm and my eyes on his face with an effort. I definitely am not looking at the place below his waistband while making this mature, grounded speech, definitely not while I’m feeling exhaustion and pain creep up on me.

But I am. Busted.

Gordon nods. “All right. Practical.”

I have seen naked human bodies many times. I’ve even touched people, helped cut off clothes, helped deliver a child once, although I was mainly near the head of the mother while Eddie Hyde was doing all the difficult work of catching and swabbing and dealing with fluids.

Andrea, even though she has been through an ordeal this evening, looks incredibly beautiful. Feels so warm and soft in my arms. As I slide her dress down over her shoulders and to her waist, she wraps her arms around my neck so I can lift her hips and pull the dress off.

Sweet Jesus and all the angels, she is so perfect. Everything about Andrea is so pliable, so pretty in shades of pink and caramel, and my body responds to her in ways that are not practical at all. I have to bite my tongue, hard, to remember that I need to take care of her first—even if my cock has different ideas when she unhooks her bra while leaning against my chest.

I’m quick to wrap the towel around her, and then I hold her off the counter again so she can wriggle out of her underwear. I shed my jeans, apply my own towel, and pull my boxers off when I’m sure everything is covered.

Although a certain treacherous appendage is not making the “covering” part easy.

“Gordon?”

“Hm?” I know she’s right next to me, but it feels like I’m in a world of my own, and I need to get out of it. Back to her.

Back to us.

Oh. I’m part of an “us.”

Partner. Mate. Love. Andrea. Andrea, and the cat, and me.

A family.

“You look kinda dazed. Are you okay? When you go into stone form, do you need a while to recover?”

I scoop Andrea up, keeping her up high on my chest while praying the towel stays knotted around my waist. “I’m fine. I recover fast. Trolls have a lot of strength and stamina.”

“Hmm. Good to know.” There’s a note of playfulness in Andrea’s voice that almost makes me drop her as my insides snap to attention like a slingshot set free.

Taking care of Andrea is a delightful combination of tenderness and dedication. I know my tasks, and once I step into the shower, I’m all business. Andrea’s health is my goal. I scrub, I shampoo, and I keep her burns cool and clean. It takes less time than I would have thought, and my emotions are behaving—until I notice her hair literally breaking off under my hand and falling into the tub.

“It’ll grow back. I’m freezing. Are we done?” Andrea finally asks, teeth chattering.

“Oh! Yes. Yes, let’s get you warm and dry—and I used your other towel.” I look at the tiny thing that was clearly made for petite humans like Andrea. It’s like a wet, white terrycloth loincloth. Probably not a flattering look. I put Andrea back on the counter and run dripping to the linen closet in the hall, and bring back an armful of fresh, dry towels. “Here.”

Andrea takes a towel, her eyes fixed on my midsection. “Can I tell you something?”

I don’t think I can stop her. I’m not sure if I want to stop her. “Yes.”

“That is a really, really good look on you. You know, from a girlfriend’s perspective.”

Girlfriend.