War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(87)

And now he cares more about tending to me than he does enjoying me? Who is this man?

“I feel fine.” Or at least fine enough for what I have in mind.

“You think I don’t want to?” War takes my hand and places it over his crotch. Since I fell asleep, he’s donned a pair of pants; that’s the only reason I’m not holding his cock in my hand at this very moment. As it is, it strains against the material.

War leans in close. “It is taking everything in me not to peel off my pants and fuck that sweet pussy of yours, wife. Everything.”

Dear God, if that little speech was supposed to dissuade me, it way missed its mark.

“I have been crazed with emotions I have never felt today,” War continues. He has a wild edge to his eyes. “I am a man of action. I want nothing more than to feel you alive and wrapped around me. And I’m trying to resist, so I’d kindly ask for you to not try to break my limited willpower.”

I release a shaky breath. A part of me wants to push the horseman to the edge, just to see what breaking him would be like, but a bigger part of me is hypnotized by this new side of War.

He can change. He’s working on changing. For me and because of me. I hadn’t been sure before, but I am now. This is a seed I want to cultivate.

So I back off, despite my raging hormones. (I mean, hey, I almost died. I think my survival should be rewarded with an orgasm or three, but that’s just my opinion.)

I settle deeper into his bed. I’m still bloody, and I smell like smoke, and I’m sure I’m ruining the horseman’s sheets.

“How did you know that I was trapped in the burning building?” I ask War. My voice comes out with a croak.

Maybe I’m not as fine as I thought I was …

It’s the thought that’s lurked in the back of my mind since he saved me.

“I saw you running in the distance,” he says.

I remember seeing War’s striking figure so far away. Too far away to believe he could see me, but apparently he had.

“And I saw a man chase you inside,” he adds.

Oh. Well then.

A few women enter the tent just then, interrupting our conversation. With their entrance comes another gust of that putrid smell. I crinkle my nose, even as I clutch War’s blankets tightly to me. God, how I miss doors. And knocking. And privacy in general. It’s a distant dream now that I live in a city of tents.

Between the women, they carry a basin filled with steaming water. They set the tub down, along with several towels, and step away. Their eyes look spooked, and they keep glancing behind them at something outside the tent.

“Do you need anything else?” one of them asks, turning her attention from the tent flaps to me and War. Her eyes move curiously over me, taking in my bare shoulders and my dirty appearance and the fact that I’m in the horseman’s bed. A blush creeps across her cheeks.

“That’s all.” War waves them away.

Once we’re alone again, he nods at the tub. “Would you like a bath?”

I would give my left tit for a bath.

My blankets are off in an instant. It’s only as I get up, naked from head to foot, that I truly feel my fatigue. I sway a little from it. My throat burns, my lungs rattle, the sword wounds on my arm, neck, and torso sting, and my legs want to fold under me.

I take a few shaky steps forward before the horseman comes over and scoops me up.

“I can walk,” I protest.

“Let me do this, wife,” he says, his lips close to my ear.

Reluctantly, I let him carry me across the room to the bath. He sets me in the water, which is scalding.

I melt into it.

Swear nothing has felt this good in a long time.

That’s not true though, is it? I’ve had many, many experiences with War that outshine this one. Just the thought has my cheeks flushing and my abdomen clenching.

I really could use a happy-to-be-alive orgasm right about now, despite my fatigue.

Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around my legs and turn my head so I can rest my cheek against my knees. My eyes flutter closed at the pleasant feel of it.

I hear War settle down beside the tub then dip something into the water. A moment later, I feel the press of wet cloth against my back.

My eyes open. “What are you doing?”

“Washing my wife.”

My back stiffens. We’re venturing into unfamiliar territory. There’s the sexual touches and the healing touches—those I’ve gotten used to. But allowing the horseman to bathe me is a new sort of intimacy.

Up until now, I’d fought this off. Maybe I’m just too tired or maybe it was the revelation that there is still so much unsaid and undone between me and War. Whatever the reason, I don’t fight it this time.

“Okay,” I say.

War doesn’t respond to that, but I feel him drag the cloth up and down my back, carefully tracing around the wound at the back of my neck. The washcloth slips into the water, turning the warm liquid a little redder.

Once he’s done with my back, he moves around to the front of the tub and begins to wash my arms, once again being careful to clean my sword wounds.

“I have been a fool,” he admits.

My eyes snap to his.

“You’re not going to fight in any more battles, Miriam,” he says. It’s not a question.

I pause at his words. No more battles?