The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(171)

At this rate, they’d be paying him to see that son of a bitch.

Hell, they hadn’t even brought up the money he’d agreed to pay them for their efforts.

Reassuming form in his usual spot on the side lawn, he was relieved to see a light on in that back bedroom of hers—and nowhere else. Thank God. Entering the house through the kitchen’s rear entrance, he didn’t call her name, didn’t make a sound. Instead, he ghosted through the empty house, circling to the base of the stairs, ascending in a way that none of the steps creaked.

At the top landing, he went to the left, and when he got to the partially closed door, he could feel his chest grow tight.

“Selena…?”

Her scent was in the air; he knew she was in there.

“Selena?” He pushed the door a little wider, and that was when he heard the sound of running water.

He had to duck his head under the low transom to enter, and as he went to the left again, he caught the humidity in the air, and the warmth— Oh … man.

He found her in the tub. Head back on a towel, body stretched out in a deep pool of clear water, hands resting on the sides of the old-fashioned porcelain bath.

“I could have gotten up,” she said without bothering to open her eyes. “But I wanted you to see me naked.”

Trez cleared his throat with a cough—which was what you did when someone hit you in the solar plexus. “Ah … can we talk?”

“I think we have.” Her lids lifted and she glanced over at him. “Or is there more?”

At that, she shifted her legs, the water undulating over that incredible body, her curves amplified as if she were moving … her nipples licked at and left wet to the air.

“There’s more,” he croaked as he ran his tongue over his lips.

“Then by all means, do draw up a chair. Unless you find that you’d like to join me.”

Fucking hell. “Is there any way I can get you up and out of there. And dressed?”

“If you wish to do it yourself, by all means, oblige your impulse.”

Yeah, because getting his hands on her naked was going to be suuuuch a big help.

Cursing under his breath, Trez went over and picked up a chair—because in the end, he was afraid that if he stayed standing he’d trip and fall into her. Literally.

As he sat down, he put his hands up to his face and scrubbed hard … and then all he could do was stay like that.

The water made a tinkling as if she were sitting up. “Trez? Are you all right?”

“No.”

There had been so many times in his life when he’d fallen off cliffs, when things that he’d done or had done to him had come back to bite him in the ass. Never like this.

“Trez?” When he didn’t answer her, she said, “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m…” Gee f*cking whiz, where to start. “Selena, I’m really sorry.”

“Why?” The tension was thick in her voice. “What are you apologizing for?”

Shame made his throat tighten up so badly, he could barely get breath into his lungs. “I need to be honest with you. Straight-up one hundred.”

“I thought you had been.”

All he could do was shake his head. “Look, you know that I have had … extensive dealings with humans.”

“That wasn’t exactly as you chose to phrase it previously,” she remarked.

More with his head shaking. “My business is … it’s a club. Do you know what that is?”

“Rugby? Or baseball?”

“A dance club. A place where people drink and … listen to music.” Jesus Christ. “And do other things.”

“Yes…?”

He dropped his hands. She had sat up and her pink nipples were right on the edge of the water, the warm surface licking at them once again—not that she seemed to notice.

“Would you mind getting out and putting a robe on?” he asked.

“I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Fucking abso on that one. “I know. It’s just hard to concentrate.”

“Maybe I want you to struggle.”

Okay, right, virgins were not supposed to be so tantalizing. Then again, she wasn’t one anymore—he’d taken care of that.

Fuck. “Mission accomplished,” he muttered.

“You were telling me about your work?”

He focused his eyes on the floor. It was simple white tile, old and well-scrubbed, the kind of thing that managed to look fresh even with its lateral cracks and occasional chips.

“Trez?” From the corner of his vision, he watched as she extended her foot and turned the hot water on for a refresh. “You were saying?”

Just do it.

Great, life had been reduced to a Nike ad.

“I traffic women. Do you understand what that means?”

She frowned. “You take them out into the street?”

“I sell them. Their bodies. To men, usually.”

Cue the silence.

He met her in the eye. “I get paid for that. I sell them. Do you understand?”

After a moment, her beautiful hands receded from the sides of the tub and crossed over her breasts.

Exactly, he thought.

“And that’s not the worst of it.”