Page 33 of To Heist and to Hold

“Lavender?” His scowl deepened. “I’m not some debutante that needs lavender water added to their bath. I need a good, strong soap and nothing else to get me clean.”

“Which is probably why your scars bother you so,” Heloise said patiently as, done with whatever the hell she’d been doing, she turned to face him—only to pause, eyes widening and traveling down his body. Which did not help his state of increasing arousal.

But she was made of stronger stuff than he was. Instead of closing the distance between them as he was damn close to doing, she smiled firmly and pointed to the tub. “Let’s get you in that water, shall we?”

He paused, eyeing the fragrant bathwater with distrust. He had never in his life smelled of flowers, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Heloise, however, was having none of it. She planted her hands on her hips, cocking her head in mock disappointment. “You are acting like a child.”

“No, I’m not,” he grumbled. Which, no doubt, only served to make him look even more like a petulant child.

Heloise sighed dramatically. “Just trust me in this, won’t you?” she begged.

It was a playful comment, made for the express purpose of getting him in the tub.

For some reason, however, it gave Ethan pause.

He gazed at her, that damned softening in his chest spreading through his whole body as a realization came over him.

Before he knew it, he spoke that realization, the words pouring from him as if they could not be contained any longer.

“I trust you in everything.”

It shook him how much he meant the words. When they’d first met, he’d been so certain he could not trust her. He’d gone into this affair as a way to keep her close and watch over her, had ordered Keely to look into her background. He’d considered her an enemy from the start.

Now, however, after a mere week, he found his feelings for her were quite different.

Heloise’s gaze turned warm at his words. So warm he felt the comforting heat of it across the distance between them.

In the next moment, however, she pressed her lips tight, straightening her shoulders into an unforgiving line.

“I will not allow you to distract me,” she declared, pointing to the tub with a shaking finger. “In.”

Shaken himself at their peculiar exchange, Ethan quite forgot to continue fighting her and stepped into the water.

It enveloped him as he settled against the copper wall of the tub, and though he would rather die than admit as much after his spectacular balking, it felt like a warm hug.

Without meaning to, he sighed and let his muscles relax.

“There,” she said brightly from somewhere behind him, “doesn’t that feel lovely?”

“It would feel lovelier if you were in here with me,” he mumbled, only half teasing. “But is lavender water truly necessary?”

“Lavender has healing properties,” she replied.

There was the sound of her rustling and moving about.

But with the sweet floral scent surrounding him and filling his lungs and the warmth of the bath seeping into his muscles, he found he didn’t care what she might be doing.

Suddenly she was beside him, a bar of soap and a washcloth in hand.

“It will do much to soothe your skin, as will the Epsom salts I added. And,” she continued, holding up the soap so he might see the bar of milky white sprinkled with pale purple blossoms, “this will help as well. No more rough, damaging soap for you.”

He considered it before turning to study the other items she had laid out by the hearth. His suspicion had eased much, to be replaced with a deepening interest. “Your botanist friend provided all this?”

“She did,” she replied, dipping the soap and washcloth in the water.

He watched her strong hands work the soap into a creamy lather against the washcloth, transfixed.

He was tempted to grab her wrist and urge her into the tub with him.

From the way she had gazed at him, her eyes hot on his body as he’d stood before her in all his nakedness, he didn’t think it would take much effort on his part.

But this wasn’t about that. His chest warmed again as he thought of all she had done here for him. No, this went beyond the physical.

It occurred to him that this was veering dangerously into a deeply emotional connection.

He had never in his life experienced something of that sort with a woman.

Oh, he’d had the odd affair, with women who were content with a quick tumble, never wanting anything more from him.

And he had never wanted anything more from them.

But with Heloise…

Before he could finish that thought—thank God, as he didn’t think he was at all ready for where it was heading—she moved behind him, hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him forward, hands splaying over his scarred back. And then—

Nothing. Her hands remained motionless, the only movement the slightest curling of her fingers against the ridged flesh.

He stilled, his head tilting slightly to one side in silent inquiry, even as tension began to thread his muscles.

She had never had cause to see his scars quite so clearly before.

Did they disgust her? God knew they had disgusted women before, though those women had done their best to hide that fact from him.

But the moment was gone in a blink, her hands soon moving against his back as she gently swept the soapy washcloth against his skin in large, slow circles, not a bit of hesitation in her touch.

And it was, quite simply, glorious. The rest of the world melted away then, the tension in his shoulders easing, his head falling forward onto his bent knees.

For some minutes she continued her ministrations, the healing suds bathing his abused skin.

They were both silent, the playfulness of a moment before gone, a subdued intimacy taking its place.

An intimacy he had not expected, and that was further deepened as her husky voice washed over him.

“I hope the men who did this to you were given their just deserts in some way. It would be too unfair if the universe left them unscathed.”

He let loose a rough chuckle, muffled as it was against his knees. “Oh, I did not wait for the universe to act. I took care of them myself when I had the means to.”

Her hands stilled in their washing. “What do you mean?”

It should be an easy question for him to answer. He did not feel any guilt over what he had done, after all. The men had deserved every bit of retribution he had piled on their heads.

But he found himself pausing. Would Heloise think him a monster for it? And why did that idea bother him so much?

He frowned into his knees as she resumed the slow circling of the washcloth on his skin.

“You will think me cruel if I tell you.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” she said, the words light yet with a peculiar tightness to them. “Considering what they did to you, I rather think they deserved whatever they got.”

“I know they deserved it,” he replied gruffly.

“I took away everything they treasured and had them sent to debtors’ prison.

They are mere shells of the men they were.

And I’m glad of it. They will never be able to do to another what they did to me.

” He turned his head to the side again, this time almost in defiance.

“I’m glad I did what I did, and I would do it again a thousand times. ”

Would she denounce his actions now, declare her disgust at his cruelty? He half expected she would. Even he, who had been the one to suffer at the hands of those men, at times cringed back from the memory of how far he had gone in his revenge all those years ago.

But she did not condemn what he had done. Instead she said, voice quiet, “I’m sorry I brought up memories that bring you such pain.”

He shrugged, even as he was achingly aware of a deep relief that he had not turned her away from him.

“Most of my memories bring me pain. But, strangely enough, it feels freeing telling you about them.” And then, after a heavy pause, “No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied quietly.

While Ethan would have been content with the bath, his entire body feeling decidedly pampered, Heloise, it seemed, was not through with her ministrations.

Before he knew what she was about, she had maneuvered him onto the bed and on his stomach.

The sheets were pleasantly cool beneath him after the warmth of the bath, and this, combined with the darkness of the room and the soft sounds of her moving about, nearly lulled him to sleep.

Until she joined him on the bed. But it was not to seduce him as he’d dearly hoped. No, she positioned herself on her knees beside him, clothed only in her chemise, and placed a tray on the bed near his head.

“Now,” she said as the tinkling of glass echoed through the room, “just relax.”

Alarm shot through him, banishing the last remnants of tiredness.

The only time anyone ever told a person to relax was when something unpleasant was coming.

You trust her , he hastily reminded himself.

But it didn’t seem to do a bit of good. After all, when one was bare-arsed naked one could not be too suspicious, especially when it came to surprises.

He braced his hands on the bed, ready to rear up and bolt out of her reach.

Until her hands, those wonderfully strong yet graceful hands, splayed over his back. Warm and slick, they pressed into his scars, moving in slow, firm circles.

But this was not unpleasant at all. In fact, it felt good. Quite good. “W-what…?”

“It’s oils,” she murmured softly. “Lavender, like before. But mixed with primrose and rose hip. All conducive to easing the discomfort of your scars. That, along with the massage, will do much to bring you relief.”

He was silent as she continued working. No, he was speechless; there was a decided difference.

Full as his heart was, words would not form.

The bath had been one thing. This, however, was something more.

Her fingers pressed into his skin, down into his muscles, easing tension he had not even known was there.

The slickness allowed her hands to move unfettered, the warmth of the oils sinking into his scars and to his very bones.

He groaned as her fingers, those wonderful fingers, found a particularly tight spot in his skin.

She pulled back immediately. “Did I hurt you?”

“God, no,” he moaned. “Please, don’t stop.”

She huffed a surprised chuckle. And then her hands were back just where he wanted them.

Her fingers were clever as they worked, pressing into his skin, down into his muscles, bringing him a relief he had never thought possible.

He had believed all this time that discomfort would be his bedfellow for the remainder of his life, that the trauma of his past would forever mar him, both inside and out.

Now, however, Heloise was soothing his scars, bringing him such comfort as he’d never experienced. And he began to wonder deep down inside if she couldn’t begin to heal his heart as well.

The thought so shocked him, he could not breathe.

Where the devil had that come from? His heart didn’t need healing.

But even as he told himself that he had not experienced any damage to that useless organ, that there was nothing to damage, he knew it wasn’t true at all.

He thought then of all the pain and devastation that had touched him over the years, causing his life to veer off course in heartbreaking ways.

From his father leaving, to the false theft accusation, to the punishment after, to his mother’s ensuing death.

And then after, the worst one of all, Gavin’s betrayal and death.

Each of those things had molded him, shaped him, as surely as a sculptor shaped a ball of clay.

But it was not a beautiful vase that had been the outcome of it all, but something misshapen, with cracks and dents and gaping holes.

Something that no one in their right mind would ever want to claim.

Yet here was Heloise, with her healing touch and kind heart, who either intentionally or unintentionally was smoothing out those defects, making him whole in a way he had never thought possible.

His breath hitched in his chest, surprising him. And Heloise as well, if the way her hands stilled was any indication.

“Ethan?” she asked, voice soft. Which only succeeded in making his breath hitch again. What the ever-loving hell was wrong with him?

“I’m fine,” he said. But the words came out as a croak. And he recognized the lie in them. He was not fine, and he hadn’t been in a very, very long time.

Heloise somehow understood immediately. Placing the tray on the side table, wiping the oil from his back with a soft towel, she gently urged him up the bed and under the sheets. Then, climbing in beside him, she pulled him into her arms.

It was a simple, sweet act, not sexual in the slightest, offering comfort.

And it broke something in him, that seemingly impenetrable dam he had built up over the years.

It crumbled to dust as she cradled his head to her chest, dragging her fingers through his hair in soft strokes.

He did not cry, of course. He never cried.

Yet he could not deny the moisture that tracked down his cheeks as he lay there in the quiet, held in her embrace.

And as the exhaustion of the morning finally claimed him, and he felt himself falling headfirst into a dreamless sleep, he knew he had somehow, someway, fallen in love with her.