Page 210

With the same gentleness she’d shown me the first time she snuck into that dungeon, she began washing my face.

Her fingers slowed around the cut on my cheek.

“It’s just a cut, Mouse. It’ll heal.”

Her fingertips carefully traced the skin beside it.

“I think it may scar. You should probably have a doctor look at it as soon as we get to New York.”

“Nah. It’ll make me look like a tough guy.” I winked.

She gave me an incredulous look.

“I don’t think you need a scar for that.”

“No?”

“Obviously not.”

I grinned.

She moved on, working the soap over my neck, shoulders, chest, and down toward my hips. Every time she reached a bruise or cut, her touch softened.

She was so damn careful with me.

Once she hopped down from the stool and pushed it aside, I wondered whether she would always handle me this gently or whether, once she knew every part of me, I’d find a feistier side beneath all that sweetness.

I liked things rough now and then.

There was so much I still didn’t know about her, but one thing had become terrifyingly clear.

If Isabella chose a life without me in it, I was thoroughly fucked.

I pushed the thought away, but not fast enough.

“What was that?” she asked.

One palm rested lightly against my chest. Her other hand, still holding the soap, settled against my hip.

“What was what?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Your eyes just went dark.”

“No darkness here.”

“Liar.”

“It was nothing. Just a thought about getting us home.”

She studied me for another moment, then shook her head.

“You know you’re a terrible liar, don’t you?”

“Is that so?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you? Eyes never lie.”