Finn findsme the second I get home with Carson and Landon, like he’s been waiting by the door for my return. He doesn’t say anything at first—just takes my hand and tugs me gently down the hall toward my room, a determined glint in his eyes and a quiet sort of glee in the curve of his mouth.
“Come on, little fire,” he murmurs. “I’ve made you a bath. And I want to draw you while you relax.”
I stumble a little, laughing as I let him pull me along. “You’re going to draw me in the bathtub?”
He looks over his shoulder at me, eyes alight with something warm and hungry, but not rushed. Patient and worshipful. “Yes,” he says simply. “You’ll look radiant in the bubbles.”
“A bubble bath?” My smile spreads before I can stop it.
“Hunter said you enjoy them,” he replies. “If that’s not true, I can correct him. Sternly. Possibly with teeth.”
I snort. “No need for bloodshed. I love them.”
“Good.” His voice lowers, eyes dragging over me slowly, already committing every detail to memory. “Then you’ll be perfect.”
When we reach my bathroom door, he pauses and opens it carefully, as if he’s unveiling a masterpiece.
Candles flicker softly on the windowsill and the bathroom counter. My tub is full of lavender-scented bubbles, soft music drifting in from the small speaker on the shelf. A glass of sparkling water with mint and lemon waits on the edge, along with one of the ridiculous bathrobes Graham insisted on getting monogrammed with my initials.
Finn watches me take it in, that quiet pride bleeding through his usual stillness.
“You did all this?” I ask, voice softening.
He shrugs a little, then nods. “I wanted to give you something beautiful. Something you didn’t have to earn or fight for. You deserve that.”
Emotion curls in my chest, unexpected and warm. I reach for his hand again, lacing our fingers.
“I’ll get in if you sit close. You don’t have to draw me, though.”
His smile tugs higher on one side. “I want to.”
“Then draw me,” I whisper. “But only if you sit close enough to hold my hand.”
Finn moves before I finish the sentence, dragging the cushioned bench from the corner and placing it near the tub. He sets his sketchpad and charcoal pencils beside it with care, then turns back to me and holds out his hand.
“Your throne awaits, milady.”
I giggle, toes already tingling at the thought of warm water and his steady gaze.
“Let me change,” I murmur.
“Let me help you,” he replies.
He helps me ease out of my clothes. A slow sort of strip tease that makes me hyperaware of him. Before I’m slipping into the bath with a sigh that echoes off the tile.
The moment my body sinks beneath the bubbles, my ribs give a dull protest—but it’s already better.
Finn settles beside the tub with a humble kind of grace. His sketchpad opens, pencil poised. But before he draws, he reaches out and wraps his fingers around mine.
“Relax,” he says. “Just breathe.”
So I do.
And as the candlelight flickers across the surface of the water and the gentle scrape of charcoal fills the room, I realize—I’ve never felt safer than I do with these five men.
His eyes flick up between strokes, always watching. Not just my body, but me.
The steam fogs the mirror behind him, and I let myself drift, hand still tangled in his.
