Juliette let out another softer laugh. “I’ve never seen you this protective over someone outside the Sinclair family. Do I dare say it’s another Saint and Levana—”
“Aargh!” The girl’s sudden scream chilled my ears.
I tossed the phone without disconnecting and slammed through the bathroom door. “Christ.” Dropping to my knees, I reached into the sunken bath, shut off the showerhead, and grabbed a towel.
Breathing hard, she opened her eyes as I sat on the top stair, leaned down, and lifted her onto my lap.
“Are you okay?” I wrapped the towel around her. Shivering, she nodded. I pulled her tight to my chest, offering her my body heat. Finally, she stopped shaking. I held up one of her hands, inspecting the bandage. “You’re not supposed to get these wet, love.” Red spots blurred against the wet material. “It’s soaked through and bleeding again.” She winced when I lifted her other hand. “It hurts?” She nodded. “Want to tell me what you were trying to do?”
She lowered her gaze to my chin, a distinct tell of embarrassment. “I wanted to wash after using the toilet.” I looked from her face to the toilet and back, wondering why she hadn’t used the paper. “I tried flushing, but there was no chain, and the button wouldn’t work. And there’s no bucket and no handle on the tap, and I don’t know how the water came out...” she rushed on, her chest heaving as if she feared she’d done something wrong.
“Shh.” I placed a finger on her lip, calming her. Her eyes lifted to mine, curiosity heightening those fascinating dual-colored irises I’d never witnessed. Lifting her off me, I set her on her feet, plugged the bath, and walked her over to the toilet while the water filled. “This is a sensor that responds to skin touch.” I pressed a finger to the black button, and the toilet flushed. “It’s a safety design one of my brothers invented to save water. It won’t flush if anything else touches it, and your hands are bandaged.” I chuckled at the perfect ‘o’ her lips formed. “This is toilet paper that you use when you’re done.” I remembered not seeing any back at that green room and assumed she didn’t know what it was.
I was right. “Paper?” She frowned.
I tore off a piece, wiped water droplets off her face, showed it to her, and then flushed it down the toilet. She was still looking at the swirling water as I guided her back to the bathtub. “To bathe,” I said when I had her attention again. “You can either fill the tub,” I pointed to the rising water, “take a shower,” I gestured to the cubicle behind her, “or use this instead of a bucket.” I lifted the detachable hand shower, the culprit of her unintended drowning a minute ago. “Get in, and I’ll show you how it works.” I set it back in its place.
Her hesitant gaze flicked between the bath and me before she slipped off the towel and handed it to me. Next, she undid the buttons on the shirt and, giving no thought to her nakedness, let it slide down her shoulders. Her ease told me the bastard had probably kept her naked for most of her life. My gaze drifting over her scarred body, I forced myself to breathe, keeping my anger in check.
One day I’ll avenge you, love.
Before I could offer to help, she lifted a leg to step down into the bath and quickly retracted it when her toes touched the water. “It’s warm.” Her expression, one of awe, she stared at the water.
About to offer to cool it down, I remembered Wilkes mentioning only cold water ran from the tap in her room. “Try it.” I dropped the towel and toed off my shoes.
Once she stepped down into the water, I climbed in behind her. My eyes latched onto the dressing covering the carved word on her back, reminding me why her hands were bandaged. Her worried look over her shoulder had me switching my scowl for a soft smile until she said, “your clothes are getting wet.”
I smiled, placed my hands on her waist, and felt her shudder before I helped lower her into the water until it covered her up to the neck. With my arse on the bottom stair behind her, I shut off the water and reached for the hand shower. Caging my arms around her, I leaned forward to instruct her how to use it.
When I showed her the settings for a hard or soft spray, she made a sound that was easy to mistake for a laugh. Her serious concentration, however, told me otherwise. After I set it back on its holder, I picked up the loofah and gently ran it over her body. She moaned low in her throat, making me smile. I washed the rest of her in silence, watching her body relax.
“Is your first time in a warm water bath nice?” I asked minutes later as her body leaned into my spread legs.
“Yes,” she sounded drowsy.
“You can have one every evening, it will help you sleep better. I didn’t add any bath salts because of your injuries. You can try them with the next bath.”
“With you,” she asked, her question filled with unbridled innocence men in my world would quickly lap up.
“No, love.” I offered no further explanation.
She tipped her head backward, looking up at me. “How do you know it’s my first time?”
The truth was best. “I’ve been to your room, seen the cold water tap.”
Her body snapped upright, pulling away from the embrace my legs created, her shoulders stiffening. I lost her there.
“You want to talk about it,” I coaxed. When the silence got deafening, I stood and climbed out. Unconcerned with my wet clothes, I grabbed one of the warm dressing gowns and a large towel. “Come.” I held out the towel.
She rose, her movements so graceful, I wondered if she was aware of her beauty. After she stepped into the towel, I gently dried her off, wrapped her in the oversized fluffy robe then guided her to the sink. Retrieving a new toothbrush from one of the drawers, I added some paste and held it up to her mouth.
“Open up,” I coaxed. Gently, I brushed her teeth, filled a glass with water, and held that up. “Rinse.” Once done, I grabbed a hairbrush. It took a while to untangle the thick mass of dark hair, once done, though, her hair fell in uneven curls to her waist. Braiding it in a single plait down her back, I wanted to ask who’d cut her hair, her soft yawn had me smiling.
Next, I moved her to the chair by the window. While she watched me between her occasional glances outside, I unwrapped the wet bandages on her hands and treated her wounds, securing clean ones. This time, I allowed her fingertips up to the second knuckle to peek at the top. After, I stood, walked around to her back, eased the gown off her shoulders, then proceeded to change the dressing on the wounds on her back. Another two yawns from her told me the warm water had relaxed her body.
Done, I walked her out to the bedroom. “Go sit on the bed, I’ll be back after I change out of my wet clothes.”
Silently, she moved away, and after she was under the covers again, I headed for my room.
