I blink back a fresh wave of tears.
Hunter sets me down, fingers trailing over my arms. “In?” he asks, voice low.
I nod, too full to speak.
He steps in first, settling into the water with a low exhale. Then he holds out his hands, and I climb in, easing down between his legs, my back to his chest.
The water envelopes me. Hot. Soothing. Exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
Hunter wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me gently against him.
His mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “Everything about you feels like home.”
My breath catches, and I lean back into him. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Take care of me, like it’s an instinct for you.”
“It is.”
Hunter reaches for the sponge again, lathers it up, and starts to move it across my skin—slow and patient. He drags it over my collarbone, down the slope of one arm, rinses, and repeats.
His hands follow next, bare and warm, sliding across my stomach, then down to the tops of my thighs, working in long, soothing sweeps.
“You’re quiet,” I murmur.
He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “You’re here and safe. That’s all I need right now.”
That word—safe—curls in my chest and tugs something loose. I want to stay here. Forever, maybe.
Hunter’s hand finds the cup of water he set on the edge of the tub. He tilts it slowly, pouring warmth over my hair. It runs in rivulets down my back, over his arms, soaking us both.
I sigh, boneless.
“Lean forward for me,” he says, voice thick and gentle.
I do, and he gathers my hair in his hands, working shampoo through the strands, his fingers massaging my scalp with slow precision. I melt under his touch, utterly undone by how present he is. How there’s no expectation behind his care. No tension. Just love.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper without thinking.
His hands still.
Then he leans forward, pressing his lips between my shoulder blades.
“You don’t have to earn love, Willow,” he murmurs. “You just have to let it in.”
CHAPTER 70
Carson
The momentI hear the soft scuff of Hunter’s footsteps in the hall, I sit up straighter in the nest.
Then I see them.
Willow is bundled in one of the white towels, damp hair sticking to her cheeks, skin still flushed from the bath, and of course, she’s being carried like royalty in Hunter’s arms.
Again.
