Then the world slowly came back. The cooling water. The slippery tile. The cramped space.
Marcus lowered her carefully, making sure she had her footing before letting go. They stood there for a long moment, just breathing, foreheads pressed together.
“We could have died,” Hazel said. “The tile. The water. That’s a liability nightmare.”
“Only you would think about injury liability immediately after orgasm.”
“One of us has to be practical.” But she was grinning, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.
They actually washed then, quick and efficient before the hot water gave out completely. Marcus shampooed her hair with gentle hands, working his fingers through the tangles. Hazel returned the favor, standing on tiptoes to reach, getting soap in his eyes twice.
When they finally stepped out, the bathroom was completely fogged, the mirror nothing but white condensation. Marcus wrapped Hazel in a towel that was too thin and too small but somehow perfect anyway.
“Better?” he asked, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
“Much better.” She caught his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm. “Thank you. For saving me. For sharing your memories. For?—”
They dried off slowly, trading soft kisses. When they finally stepped back into the main room, wrapped in thin towels that were barely adequate, Hazel felt lighter than she had in days.
“Marcus, when this is over…”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“What if we can’t? Your life is in Boston…”
“Then I’ll move here.”
She pulled back to look at him. “You’d do that? Give up everything?”
“Hazel, I’d do anything.” The words came easier this time, steadier than when they’d tumbled out in the heat of the moment. “Because I love you. And I mean it just as much this morning, dressed and standing in your kitchen, as I did last night.”
Tears streamed down her face. “You absolute idiot. You’re going to make me cry again.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s the best thing.” She launched herself at him, kissing him through tears. “I love you too. I loved you last night and I love you now and I’ll love you when this is over.”
He kissed her deeper, pouring everything into the connection. When they broke apart, both were breathing hard.
They spent the rest of the day in a stolen bubble of contentment. Making lunch together, bumping hips at the tiny counter. Curling up on the bed with their respective reading materials, her feet in his lap. Taking a walk around the perimeter to check wards that didn’t need checking, Hazel teaching him the folk names her grandmother had used for the constellations.
When they finally went to bed, Hazel hooked one ankle over his calf and pressed her cold feet against his shins. He flinched but didn’t pull away.
“Your feet are freezing,” he said.
“Deal with it,” she said, and fell asleep.
17
Hazel tracedthe scars on Marcus’s bare chest with her fingertips. Five days until the trial. She was trying not to count.
“Stop counting.” His voice rumbled beneath her cheek, warm and sleep-rough.
She pressed a kiss to the scar on his ribs. “I can’t help it.”
He pulled her closer until no space existed between them. His heartbeat was steady and unhurried, a demon’s pulse, slower than a human’s. She’d learned to find it comforting instead of strange.
“Coffee?” she offered, though neither of them moved.
