His heart beat steady beneath my ear. His arms came around me immediately, holding me close, and something in my chest settled. Like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
"This feels good," I said quietly. "Right. Like I've been doing this for years instead of hours."
His arms tightened around me. "Yeah. It does."
I pulled back slightly to look at him. There were faint shadows under his eyes, a tension in his jaw that suggested he hadn't fully relaxed.
"Did you sleep at all? You look like you've been awake for a while."
"Couple hours." He brushed hair back from my face, his touch tender. "Had some things to think about."
"Good things or bad things?"
"Terrifying things." His smile was crooked. "But good. Definitely good."
I studied his face, trying to read what he wasn't saying. But before I could ask, he was shifting, lifting me as he stood.
The casual display of strength made my stomach flip. I wasn't a small woman, five-nine and curvy, with hips and thighs that had never fit into the sizes magazines suggested I should wear. But Dez handled me like I weighed nothing, like lifting me was easy enough.
"Come on," he said, carrying me toward the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up."
He set me on the marble counter while he turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to fill the space. I watched him move, all that controlled power and unconscious grace, and felt something warm unfurl in my chest.
"Are you Russian?" I asked suddenly.
He glanced back at me, surprised. "Half. My father's Russian, but my mother is Italian. Why?"
"Just curious. Your features—the cheekbones, the eyes. I thought maybe." I tilted my head. "Do you speak it?"
"Fluently. My mother insisted that we know all Italian, Russian, and English." He tested the water temperature, then held out his hand. "Come here."
I slid off the counter and let him lead me into the massive shower. Multiple heads sent water cascading from different angles, creating a warm cocoon of steam and heat. I sighed at the sensation, tilting my head back to let the water run over my face and hair.
When I opened my eyes, Dez was watching me with an expression that made my breath catch. Hunger. But also something softer. Something that looked almost like reverence. He grabbed body wash and poured some into his hands, warming it between his palms before reaching for me.
"Turn around," he said softly.
I obeyed, and his hands settled on my shoulders, beginning to wash me with slow, deliberate attention. His fingers worked down my spine, across my shoulder blades, tracing the curves and dips of my body like he was memorizing them. When he reached my waist, his hands splayed wide, spanning the curve of it, and I couldn't help but notice the contrast. My dark brown skin against his lighter hands. My curves, hips, thick thighs, the soft roundness of my stomach, against his lean, muscular frame.
I was tall for a woman, used to being eye-level with most men. But Dez was six-three at least, and even at my height, he made me feel small. Delicate. Feminine in a way I'd never experienced before.
His hands moved lower, soaping my hips, my thighs, the curve of my ass. Every touch was purposeful, worshipful, like he was cherishing every inch.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, his lips finding the curve of my shoulder. "Every fucking inch of you."
I turned in his arms to face him, water streaming between us. "You don't have to?—"
"Don't." His eyes were serious. "Don't diminish yourself. Don't assume I'm lying or exaggerating or saying what you want to hear."
"I was going to say you don't have to sweet-talk me." I met his gaze. "I already agreed to consider your proposal."
"This isn't sweet talk." His hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "This is me telling you the truth. You're gorgeous, Angelina. Strong and soft in all the right places. Perfect."
He kissed me then, deep and slow, and I felt it down to my toes. When he pulled back, he continued washing me. My arms, my breasts, my stomach… with that same careful attention. Then he knelt, and the sight of him on his knees in front of me made something in my chest crack open. His hands washed my legs, my feet, his lips pressing kisses to my hip, my thigh, my knee as he worked.
Making me feel cherished. Adored. Precious.
I wondered if this was part of the negotiation. If he was being extra attentive, extra romantic, to convince me to say yes to his proposal. But when I looked down and met his eyes, I saw the raw honesty there, the genuine desire mixed with something deeper. I knew it was real. Whatever this was between us, it wasn't an act. He stood and pulled me close, and we stayed like that under the spray, just holding each other, until the water started to cool.
