He poured soap into his hands and started washing her shoulders, working the tension out with steady pressure. The tension eased under his hands, the knots of the day slowly unwinding. The water pounded against her collarbone, hot and rhythmic.
"You know," Killian said conversationally, working the soap down her back, "I'm fairly certain there's a mob boss in my living room."
April's eyes snapped open. "What?"
"Don Dante," he said as his hands slid to her sides. "He's either mafia or a terrifying lawyer. No way that guy’s justa bouncer. I haven’t decided which. He's in my living room because of you."
"Are you complaining?"
“No, I’m observing that my evening went from 'normal gala' to 'hosting what appears to be a criminal organization's leadership' in the span of six hours. Also a pop star. And Mr. Christmas. And Liam Sterling, who I'm fairly certain could buy and sell half the people at that gala."
"You're the one who fake-proposed to me in a supply closet."
"And you're the one who turned it into an eight-man operation." His hands moved to her hair, working shampoo through it with careful fingers. "I'm impressed, honestly. That level of coordination usually requires a project manager."
She laughed despite herself. "Are you analyzing my sex life like a business acquisition?"
"I'm a CEO. It's what I do." He rinsed her hair, fingers gentle against her scalp. "Though I'll admit this particular merger has some unusual stakeholders."
"Killian." She batted his chest, a soft laugh in her voice.
His hands stilled. He turned her around to face him, water streaming between them.
"I'm joking because if I think too hard about the fact that you chose to be here—with me—after everything I fucked up today, I'm going to—" He stopped. "I don't know what I'm going to do. But it won't be dignified."
She reached up and touched his face, water dripping from her fingers. "You're here now. That's what matters."
"Yeah. I am."
She grabbed the soap. "My turn."
She washed him with the same care he'd shown her. Shoulders, chest, the defined muscles of his stomach. He stood still and let her, eyes never leaving her face. When she was done, they stood under the spray together, water streaming betweenthem, until he turned it off. "Come on, before Mateo decides we need a welfare check."
They stepped out. He grabbed a towel and dried off with the efficient speed of a man who'd probably timed his morning routine down to the second.
April took her time, wrapping the towel around herself and using a second one on her hair.
When she walked back into the bedroom, still rubbing the towel through her damp hair, he was already dressed in fresh clothes—dark jeans, a simple black t-shirt with his name tag attached.
But on the bed, he'd laid out two options. In one corner: a white button-up shirt. Boxer briefs.
The rest of the bed held the emerald dress laid flat. The wrap folded beside it. The necklace arranged carefully. Dante's tie laid across the foot of the bed. Her power panties set carefully to the side.
April stepped closer. Let her fingers brush the dress, wrinkled silk cool under her thumb.
"I thought you might want to be comfortable?"
Her hand stayed on the fabric a second longer, then she reached for Killian's shirt. Pulled it on and buttoned it halfway. Enough for modesty, not enough to hide. The boxer briefs sat low on her hips.
She walked over to him. Barefoot, his shirt soft against her skin, still clinging slightly where it touched damp hair. "Thank you.”
Killian's hand came up to cup her face. His thumb traced her cheekbone. "You're extraordinary."
"You said that already."
"Bears repeating."
He leaned in and kissed her again; his thumb brushed her cheekbone as he deepened it.
