“I can’t help it if you make me lose control,” I murmur.
And it’s true. Whatever this is between us, it’s explosive. Consuming.
“Come on.” I guide her toward the bathroom. “After the bath, I’m taking you out today.”
She stops, clearly surprised. “Out?”
“Yes. Out of this room. Away from the palace.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?” Worry creeps into her voice. “Someone might—”
“I have ways to disappear without anybody noticing.” I tilt her chin up, needing her to see the truth in my eyes. “Trust me.”
She studies my face for a long moment. Finally, she sighs, and her features soften.
“I trust you.”
These three simple words make my heart soar. She trusts me. Despite everything—despite our history, despite the danger, despite the fact that I can’t keep my hands off her—she trusts me. Not because of who I was in some past life, but because of who I am now.
I lead her into the bathroom and start filling the large tub, testing the water temperature until it’s perfectly warm. When I turn back to her, she’s leaning against the counter, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” But she smiles slightly. “Just…you’re being sweet.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” I move over to her and carefully lift her into my arms. She doesn’t protest this time, simply wrapping her wrists around my neck.
I lower her into the water slowly, mindful of her soreness. She hisses slightly as the heat touches her skin, then melts with a sigh of relief.
“Better?” I ask.
“Mm.” Her eyes drift closed. “Much better.”
I should leave her to soak. Instead, I find myself reaching for the soap and lathering it between my hands.
“You promised not to cross the line,” she reminds me, but there’s no real threat there.
“I won’t.” I spread the soap across her back, softly over the marks I left. “I’m taking care of you. There’s a difference.”
She doesn’t argue, just lets me wash her, her body gradually relaxing. I take my time, savoring the simple intimacy of it, the trust she shows by letting me see her like this.
I shampoo her hair, working my fingers through the tangles, massaging her scalp until she’s practically purring. When I tilt her head back to rinse it out, water cascades over her, and she looks up at me with half-lidded eyes.
“Kieran,” she whispers.
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
My throat tightens, and I have to lean down and kiss her forehead before I can respond. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I want to.”
I move to kiss her temple, her cheek. Can’t seem to stop myself. She turns her head, catching my lips with hers, and the kiss is soft, gentle. Not driven by desperate hunger, but by something deeper. Tenderness. Love, even.
When I pull back, I move to her neck, pressing kisses along the column of her throat, feeling her pulse flutter against my lips.
“Kieran,” she murmurs.
