Page 42

CHAPTER 42

Maarja woke up to roll over, because she couldn’t roll over without pain and careful planning. As she moved, one inch at a time, she observed that the sun was setting, the room over Connor’s garage was both a spacious office and a spare bedroom, and someone behind her was snoring loudly. A slow glance over her shoulder showed Dante, naked and sprawled on his back, eyes closed, head tilted and mouth open.

He was bruised. He had a fat lip. He was cute.

That betraying thought made her wrench herself around, and groan as every joint protested.

He woke immediately and smoothly sat up, like being knocked around by his own stunt driving posed no problem for his movements. “You okay?” he asked. “Whiplash? Need help to get up and take a piss?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He sighed as if much put upon. “Need help to get up and make à le pipi ?”

She wanted to make fun of him, but she was still too tired to fight.

Her restraint made him look carefully into her eyes. “You aren’t concussed, are you?”

“No, I’m not concussed.” She wore a soft denim shirt but toned up enough to cover the essentials. The shirt was probably Owen’s. He’d probably helped her into it. She sort of remembered that. “Yes, please help me to my feet and I’ll use the facilities.” Which sounded so straitlaced after his blunt language.

He grasped her around the ribs, which interestingly enough weren’t bruised, and gently lifted her off the bed. Quite a change, since he was usually pressing down on a bed. As she hobbled toward the bathroom, he asked, “Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

“Yes!” She drew the line at that intimacy.

“When you come out, we’ll talk.” He shut the door behind her.

That sounded ominous.

She couldn’t read the man. Was he upset with her?

As she used the facilities, brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face, and did a little light stretching, she tried to figure out how to reassure him about whatever he was perturbed about.

When she came out, he was barefoot, wearing a torn T-shirt and faded jeans that hugged his thighs so well she could see every muscle and sinew. Her mouth dried. He looked ready to play his role in The Innocent Gardener and the Seductive Exchange Student .

And she needed to get a grip on her fantasies. They were spinning out of control and she was in no shape, physically, to tackle him. Instead she tackled the first uncomfortable subject. “You didn’t say anything when I said we should get legally married. I’m not trying to trap you.” She fiddled with the buttons on her shirt. “It doesn’t have to be forever, you know.”

“Maarja, I know. The number of times you’ve assured me that I don’t have to marry you and you don’t want to marry me and our union isn’t ordained by fate or blessed by love…could cause dents in the ego of a lesser man.” He sounded snappish and turned toward the door. “Owen asked if you want a bath in some herbal concoction he prepared to ease your aches. I’d say yes if I were you. You’ll hurt his feelings otherwise.”

He was definitely snappish, and her feet dragged as she made her way toward him. “If someone will be there to haul me out.”

“I’ll be there. I can see you without clothes without fucking you.”

“Without wanting to fuck me?” She laughed at him. She hadn’t had enough sleep, so it followed that he hadn’t had enough sleep. Probably that was the reason for his grim mood.

“Look. I can see you naked without fucking you because you’re hurting and it’s my fault.”

Dismayed, she protested, “Not your fault! Your driving saved us.”

He paid so little attention she might not have spoken. “But I can’t see you naked without wanting to fuck you, without thinking what it’s like when I’m inside you and all I want to do is come inside you and yet never finish, because it feels so damned good and so damned right. My skin against your skin, the way you clutch me, your voice when you get that little sob that means you’re on the edge… There’s never been a woman like that for me. Put on your robe—”

“Owen’s robe.”

“And I’ll help you to the guest bath with the soaker tub.”

He helped her slide into the robe, and he sounded impatient, but the words he said! Not poetry; that wasn’t Dante. Blunt, earthy, sexual. Life was precarious and all she could think of was…fucking. He made her want to pull him on top of her. He made her want to sit on him and ride him. She wanted to press her legs together to ease the ache. Instead, as he took her arm and walked her down the stairs, she was lasciviously ready and wondered if he had plans to join her in the tub. Hoped he had plans…

As hopes went, hers were unfulfilled.

He ran the hot water, dumped in Epsom salts and a linen bag of what looked like dried weeds, tested the temperature with his elbow. The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted up, carried on the steam. As impersonal as a lady’s maid, he helped her undress, get in, and tucked a bath pillow under her neck. “Owen says to relax for twenty minutes. That should give me time to catch you up.”

She did not ask how she was supposed to relax when he used his corporate president voice, or why he couldn’t get in the tub and talk at the same time. She knew the answer.

Time was the thing they didn’t have. Utilizing her bath to discuss their plans made sense, so she arranged her washcloth over her nipples, because her nipples broke the surface of the water, and used her hands to swish the water in the futile—okay, silly—hope of concealing other body parts. That made her pubic hair wave like seaweed on the tide.

Great. Just great.

Dante pulled the dressing table stool over to the tub and placed it to the side and behind her head where she couldn’t see his face. “I called Octavia,” he said.

That drove the weirdness of this situation totally out of her head. “Thank you. My poor mom! Was she frantic after our disappearance?”

“Yes. I reassured her, told her you were safe, if a little battered. Explained in depth what had happened, gave her the whole background of you and me—”

“Oog.” She sank deeper into the tub, trying futilely to conceal herself from his words.

“And asked for your hand in marriage.”

Maarja stopped rippling the water.

“Octavia lectured me on a woman’s right to control her own body and destiny, advised me that in her experience, fate is nothing compared to love and support and vows spoken in earnest.” A significant pause. “And she gave you to me.”

“My God,” Maarja whispered.

In a more humorous tone, he said, “She also said if I ever hurt you, she would personally remove my junk and since she’s vision impaired, that could get messy.”

“My God,” she repeated. Any relaxation created by water, salts, and herbs vanished in Maarja’s need to leap to her feet and run.

“Let’s warm up that bath a little more, shall we? You’re looking tense.” His hand appeared to flip on the hot water. “You do realize you proposed to me , right?”

“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d—”

“Go through all the forms?” He sprinkled more Epsom salts and a handful of loose herbs and dried flowers under the faucet. “Swish that around,” he instructed.

She did, and when the water was warm again, she turned off the faucet. “Better,” she said. “Did Mom tell you she’s performed quite a few weddings in her backyard?”

“She mentioned that. I assured her we’d stream the ceremony to her and Alex and she could officiate from the safety of—”

Maarja laughed and shook her head at his foolishness.

He paused to gather his thoughts. “She’s not going to stay in Sacramento, is she?”

“Did you not get to know her at all? That woman believes in facing down the bad people of the earth. She’s fearless. She wasn’t born blind, you know. She had a talent, she taught people joy in their creativity, and was struck down for it.” Maarja relaxed back into the tub and grinned for the fierce joy of knowing she’d have at least part of her family with her on her wedding day. “Mom will be there in person. Alex, too, if she can manage it. My other sisters, no. I wish, though! Did you call Saint Rees? He’s fond of my mom. She’ll add a layer of distraction for him, but he’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“Right.” Dante contemplated the complications he had set in motion. “I did call Saint Rees. Smart guy.”

“He’s more than that. He’s a good guy.”

Dante accepted her chiding gracefully. “A rare combination. At once he saw the advantages of providing security. He went into sales mode, promised to concentrate all the California crew in Octavia’s neighborhood.”

“You’ll pay him well.”

“Maarja, I’m not thrifty.”

She realized she had insulted him. “I know.”

“I understand the advantages of binding people to me with loyalty, with kinship, with money. However, in the case of Saint Rees, there was no need for any of that. He considers you, Octavia, and Alex family.” Dante scooted the stool closer to the tub. His voice grew quiet and intense. “He also gave me information I had never considered, information he had uncovered while searching for and investigating Serene.”