Page 50 of His to Hunt

Victor’s expression darkens.

I wave my hand quickly. “It wasn’t a big deal. We were teenagers. I was just happy to go somewhere.”

“That’s not the point,” he grumbles.

“I know,” I say quietly.

And I do. Maybe that’s the problem. I’m starting to see the point of things I used to shove into the little mental drawer labeled don’t complain, at least they let you (fill in the blank). Right next to the drawer labeled don’t complain, at least you’re not homeless.

Victor’s hand moves to my back again. “Show me the rest.”

“You haven’t seen it?” I ask.

“No. I booked it. I didn’t inspect it,” he answers.

“Very reckless of you,” I say.

“I was distracted by my mate wearing clothes with holes in them,” he rumbles.

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling again as I walk toward the bedroom. Then I stop dead in the doorway.

There’s a huge bed with crisp white sheets, a mountain of pillows, and a headboard that reaches halfway up the wall. More windows. More views of Covington. Soft lamps. A sitting area. A television hidden inside some kind of cabinet that probably costs more than the car I was saving up for before my uncle decided that money needed to go toward the rent.

And the bathroom. I see it through an open doorway and forget the bed exists.

“Oh my goddess,” I breathe out, in absolute awe.

The bathroom is marble and glass and shiny chrome. There are two sinks, a vanity, a huge walk-in shower with more showerheads than any human being should need, and a deep soaking tub positioned near the windows. I walk straight to the tub like I’m being summoned by a porcelain deity.

“There’s a bathtub,” I say, leaning over, realizing it might even be big enough to fit both of us.

I don’t hate that my mind went there.

“Yes,” Victor growls from the doorway. “Most bathrooms have bathtubs.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I say, running my fingers along the edge. “I haven’t had an actual bath in years. Just showers. Cold showers half the time, if Frank used all the hot water upstairs. I used to love baths when my grandmother was alive.” I realize I’m rambling before I can stop myself. I close my eyes and shake my head. “Sorry. That probably sounded pathetic.”

“No,” he scowls, shaking his head.

He closes the distance between us, his body heat wrapping around me before he even touches me. His hands settle on my hips, and his mouth lowers to my ear.

“Take a bath,” he purrs. “Use every bottle, oil, salt, and rich-people stuff they put beside that tub. Soak until you forget what cold showers feel like.”

I swallow hard, my eyes stinging for some ridiculous reason. “You’re not going to make that sound dirty?”

“I can,” he says. “But I’m trying to behave for at least five minutes.”

“That sounds difficult for you,” I tease.

“It’s agony,” he grins and my heart lights up.

I laugh softly and lean back against his chest. His arms close around me, and for a moment, I just let myself stand there. Let myself be held. No diner. No basement. No Frank yelling my name like I’m a badly trained dog. No damp walls. No cheap candles trying and failing to hide the smell of mold.

Just warmth and safety.

And Victor.

CHAPTER 14