Lincoln stares at my hand, wraps his fingers around mine, and steps into the shower. Releasing my hand, he pulls me in front of him, my back to his chest, and holds me close as the water rains down around us.

He sighs as if the water just washed the weight of the world from his shoulders, and his hold on me tightens.

Lincoln works hard—harder than anyone I know. On top of that, he cares for his father and watches out for his sister and somehow finds time to spend with me. But who’s been taking care of him?

No one.

My heart constricts at the thought, and I vow to make sure this man is taken care of the way he deserves, the way I’ve failed to do so many times over the last five months.

I turn in his arms, reach around his big body, and grab the shampoo.

Lincoln opens his eyes and looks down at me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to wash your hair.”

“I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you.”

“You will. But I want to take care of you first.”

“No way.” He holds his hand out for the bottle, but I clench it close to me.

“Please,” I beg. “Please let me do this. You’re always looking out for me and making sure I have everything I need. Now I want to do something for you.”

“You do a lot for me.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t, but that’s going to change.”

His gaze is unyielding, and about the time I think he’s going to yank the shampoo from my hands, he surprises me by turning around.

Lincoln is taller than me, but with his head tilted back, I can easily reach him. I work the shampoo until his head is covered in bubbles. I take the time to massage his scalp. Pushing my thumbs into the skin at the base of is skull, I move them in circular motions down his neck and over his shoulders.

His body is tight, but it relaxes under my hands, and I keep going until the two knots I found are gone. Then I turn him around.

“Rinse.”

He steps under the spray, shakes his hair out the way men do, and finds the bottle of shampoo.

“Your turn.”

I’ve never had a man wash my hair, but when Lincoln’s large hands slide against my scalp, I can easily see why this is a thing. His fingers are gentle as he works the rain fresh scent into my hair before rinsing it out and repeating the process with my conditioner.

“Can you hand me the loofah?”

I grab the black loofah from the hook and hand it to him. He squirts on a blob of body wash and motions for me to turn around.

Gathering my hair at the nape of my neck, I hold it up, allowing him to start at the top of my back. Lincoln runs the loofah along my shoulder blades, over my ass, and down the backs of my thighs. He gently grabs my left ankle, and I steady myself with a hand on the shower wall so he can lift my foot. He washes each foot and then glides the loofah up the backs of my calves, stopping at the bend in my knee.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

I move my left foot out, creating a wide gap between my legs. I’m completely open to him, all of my most private parts on full display, and I couldn’t be more comfortable because I know that with him I’m always safe.

The loofah glides over each inner thigh before slipping through my folds. His touch is so tender that I close my eyes and will myself not to cry.

Jesus, Adley, get a grip.

I cried during sex, but I refuse to cry during our shower. I just got Lincoln—I mean really got him—and if I’m not careful, he’s going to think I’m a basket case. My emotions have been running high with the end of school and the stress of finals and studying for my state boards and Mo’s wedding and then all this stuff with Lincoln. I’m sure it’ll get better when things calm down, but it’s hard to push the feelings away when he’s being so sweet.

A tear leaks down the side of my cheek, but easily blends into the droplets of water already gathered on my face.

“Turn around.”

I blink away any remaining tears and follow his command. Lincoln washes the front of my body with the same gentle hand he used on my back, and when he’s done, my muscles and bones feel relaxed, and I could easily crawl into his bed naked and take a nice long nap.

But first.

“My turn.” I take the loofah from Lincoln and squirt on another drop of body wash. Using the loofah and my free hand, I work the soap into his skin, admiring the way his muscles flex and tighten as I roam over his body. When I get to his legs and feet, I look up, and Lincoln smiles.

It isn’t his normal, happy smile. It’s reserved. Almost shy.

I can’t help but think about his past and his childhood and those pictures hidden in his closet. Hasn’t anyone ever cared for him like this? Didn’t his parents love him and bathe him growing up the way most parents do? The thought of a young Lincoln leaning over a tub to wash his baby sister is too much, and I have to look away.

“What are you thinking right now?” he asks.

I want to be honest, but I don’t want to admit to snooping through his closet. One of these days—when he’s ready—he’ll tell me about his past. I want it to be on his terms.

“That we’re pretty good at this shower thing. We should bathe each other more often.”

“I second that idea.”

I stand, rinse the loofah out, and hang it back on the hook. Then my stomach lets out a loud gurgle, causing both of us to laugh.

“Come on, let’s feed you.”

Lincoln scoops me up and steps carefully out of the shower. “I can walk, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you always carrying me?”

“Because you fit perfectly in my arms. Why do you always call me Lincoln?”

“Because that’s your name.”

He nips playfully at my neck and stands me on the rug where he proceeds to dry me off with a towel. “I know, but everyone else calls me Linc.”

“Would you rather I called you Linc?”

He shakes his head and looks up before wrapping the towel around my hair. “No. I like that you use my full name. I was just curious.”

“Do you want to know the real reason? It’s kind of corny.”

“Now you have to tell me,” he says, grabbing another towel for himself.

“You’re kind, honest, caring, hard-working, and you worry about those around you. Remind you of anyone else with the same name?”

With the towel wrapped around his lean hips, Lincoln pulls me in for a hug. He presses his lips to my head and laughs. “I remind you of Abraham Lincoln?”

“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny. He was a president. I’m just a…washed-up bull rider.”

“You’re not a washed-up bull rider. You’re more than that, and he was more than a president. He was a good man.”

Pissed off that he called himself a washed-up bull rider and a little embarrassed that he made of fun of me, I stomp out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.

Lincoln doesn’t let me get far. Once I’m in his room, he grabs my wrist and spins me around. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m frustrated.”

Lincoln rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s a compliment, and I shouldn’t have laughed. But I’m still trying to see myself the way you see me.”

“Well, try harder.”

“Can I make it up to you?” he asks, unwinding the towel from my head.

“What’d you have in mind?”

My stomach growls again, and Lincoln laughs. “How about we start with food.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll go to work, and you’ll have the house all to yourself. It’ll be quiet, and you can study your little heart out.”

“Oh my gosh.” My eyes widen, and I look at the alarm clock sitting on Lincoln’s nightstand. “It’s Monday. You have to work today. Are you going to be late?”

I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before I attacked him in the kitchen earlier. I’m so used to being in school and not working that I forget other people have actual jobs.

“It’s okay. I don’t have to be at The Barn until noon.”

That makes me feel a little better. “How about you get ready for work and let me make breakfast. Or maybe I should make lunch. Which would you rather have?”

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you cook breakfast. But today, I’m doing it. You didn’t get to study at all this weekend because I took up too much of your time, so go get your books and get comfy.”

Grabbing the knot of his towel, I tug him forward. “You could never take up too much of my time.”

“You undo that knot and you might change your mind about that.”

That’s tempting. He could have me flat on my back and be buried balls deep in my body within seconds.

“I’m trying to be good here, Adley, but that look in your eyes is making it difficult.”

I blink through the haze and look up.

“Tonight,” he promises. “We’ve got all night.”