Page 193 of Savage Hearts

“Mal—”

“I promise I won’t look at anything. How’s that?”

There’s that lip curl again. It’s becoming my new favorite thing.

“Right. You won’t look at anything while you’re busy washing my hair and all my naked parts. I’m sure that will be very easy for you.”

Why does she have to keep saying the word “naked”? Is she trying to kill me?

I manage to say calmly, “Easier than living with your stench.”

She sends me one of her signature glares and pronounces, “You know what? I just decided I hate you.”

That makes two of us.“Hate me all you want in the bathtub.”

We stand staring at each other in silence while I fight the urge to kiss her and she plots my murder and dismemberment, until finally she relents and switches tactics.

She says pleadingly, “Can’t you understand what this must be like for me?”

“Yes, I can. And I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But you’re not steady enough to get in and out of the tub by yourself or lift the pitcher to rinse your hair. I doubt you have the strength to lift a bar of soap.”

She narrows her eyes at me, calculating if I’m lying or telling the truth. I wait patiently, silently willing her to understand that this is for her, that it will make her feel good, and that along with protecting her, making her happy is now my sole purpose in life.

Holding her doubtful gaze, I say as gently as possible, “I won’t force you. It’s your choice. I just want to help you feel better. I think a bath will do that.”

“So I could ask you to take me back to bed, and you will?”

“Yes.”

A shade of hostility fades from her posture when she realizes I’m being truthful. Chewing her lip, she gazes longingly at the water inthe tub. Impatience nettles me, but I keep my mouth shut and let her come to her own decision.

Finally she mutters, “Fuck it.” She turns back to me and commands, “But don’t make it weird!”

That train has already left the station, but I wisely choose silence again and turn my back to her.

After a moment, she says, “What are you doing?”

“Would you prefer I stare at you while you take off your nightgown?”

I knew that would do the trick. She heaves a beleaguered sigh and begins to undress. Shocked by the sheer force of will I have to exert over myself not to turn and help her, I listen to her small sounds of frustration as she struggles to get the nightgown over her head.

Finally, she murmurs, “Okay.”

I turn and pick her up, keeping my gaze averted so as not to make her feel insecure or embarrassed. Then I lower her carefully into the tub, kneeling and setting her down gently. She has her arms crossed over her chest and her head bowed, and I’ve never seen her look so fragile.

Tenderness seizes me. The emotion is so strong, it’s almost overpowering. My heart thuds against my rib cage, and my throat constricts. I’ve never felt anything like it.

I hope I never will again because I can hardly breathe.

I cup my hand around the back of her head and slowly lean her back. She has her eyes squeezed shut now. I ask if she wants a towel to support her neck. Cheeks burning, she timidly says yes.

I quickly roll up a hand towel and place it under her neck, then take the pitcher from the floor and dip it into the bathwater, still keeping my gaze averted from her body. Then I wet her hair, grab a bottle of shampoo, squeeze a dollop into my hand, and start to clean her hair.

The moment I press my fingers into her scalp, she relaxes and exhales a soft sigh.

I’ve never heard a sound so sweet. Just when I thought I had myself together, that little sigh of pleasure unravels me all over again.

Her arms slide off her chest, exposing her breasts. She’s relaxed now, her embarrassment gone. I concentrate on gently massaging her head and neck, hoping she won’t notice how my hands tremble.