Dean began to peel away her soaked clothes, half expecting her to wake and scream bloody murder that he was raping her. Had she awoken, there was no doubt she'd be petrified by his actions in the nearly dark room. It was a no-win situation.
Cynthia was as limp as a rag doll as he pulled down her skirt, which was heavy with water. He maneuvered her arms out of her jacket and white frilly blouse. Feeling like 20 kinds of pervert for doing it, he hoped to at least be spared undressing her further. One touch of her damp, cold body told him otherwise-she was soaked to the skin.
Dean rubbed and blotted Cynthia Byrne's body briskly with the towel and wrapped her head turban-like in a smaller one. He then took a deep breath and began work on her under things. Alternating bars of light cast a pale glow through the venation blinds on her near-white body. She may have been asleep and she may have been a wet shivering mess but, by God, she was still beautiful and the whole procedure was beginning to bother Dean as he tried to be objective to his task. He peeled away her panty hose. Cynthia Byrne's breasts stood firm against the lacy fabric covering them and he draped a towel across her chest as he struggled to unhook her bra from beneath her comatose body. He then draped a second towel across the lower part of her body and removed her panties, no "Thursday" cotton things, but small and white. He couldn't have felt guiltier if he were molesting a nun.
After patting her body as dry as he dared, Dean reached over and grabbed her night bag, pulling out her pajamas. She should have had a hot shower but there was no way he was going to tackle that chore. Without difficulty he pulled her arms through the pajama top and buttoned the garment. He was about to pull on the bottoms when he wondered if she would wear panties to bed. He still hoped she would awake in the morning thinking she had undressed herself and save them both the embarrassment that would otherwise follow. What the hell, he thought. He closed his eyes and tugged on a pair of lavender briefs before pulling up the bottom to the PJ's.
Dean maneuvered the still-unconscious figure beneath the covers, tucking the blanket as tightly as he dared. He hung up the sopping towels and wet clothing in the bathroom. Before returning to his room, Dean stopped to adjust the remaining towel beneath Cynthia Byrne's damp head. He gazed down upon her now-peaceful figure. She was truly beautiful, resting there, color beginning to return to her cheeks and a look of contentment that only sleep could bring, a look that would surely be absent in the morning. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. A feeling of caring he had never before experienced washed over him.