"Sure," you say. "Help yourself."

You slide back the shower curtain. "Let me get you a towel." As you head for the linen cupboard, Luke catches you by the arm.

"Don't go," he says. "I wouldn't want to black out, hit my head, and drown in your bathtub. Maybe... maybe if you helped me..." Leaning heavily on the counter, he pushes himself up from the toilet, struggles for a moment with his belt, then lets it drop to the floor with a clunk.

"Are you delirious?" you ask, reaching out a hand to steady him as he sways on his feet. "A minute ago you were holding me at gunpoint, and now you want me to shower with you?"

"I had to know if I could trust you," he says. "If you had tried to take my weapon, I'd have shot you, but you didn't. You just wanted to help me. Help me now. Please..." He puts his furry hands on your waist and starts to work the bottom of your T-shirt up.