Love, Come to Me(116)

“Hush.”

With a great effort, she swallowed her amusement and assumed a serious expression as she watched him free her hair, two and three strands at a time. “My back is hurting,” she said. “I’ve been kneeling here for the last ten minutes, and this wet hair is very heavy.” When she saw that there was no reply, she fell silent, observing his tedious progress until her back really did begin to hurt. “Heath, I’m getting sore.”

“Lean on me.”

“I’ll get you all wet.”

Ignoring her halfhearted protest, he sat down beside her and reached his arms around her to the fireplace screen. There was nothing she could do but settle her back against his chest. Slowly she allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. Occasionally she felt the firmness of his jaw brush against her temple as he worked at her hair with infinite care. Around him lingered the fragrance of shaving soap and expensive linen, the after-work scent of printers’ ink, the warm, masculine smell of his skin. The combination of scents was something she associated only with Heath, and it was comforting and pleasant.

“I talked with Damon,” Heath said.

Her eyes were alert, but because of their position she couldn’t see his face. “He told you everything?”

“Knowing him, probably not everything. But enough.”

“Heath, I have some questions—”

“I’m certain you do. But I have one to ask you first.”

“Ask me whatever you want. I want us to be open and truthful with each other.”

“I want that too. I’ve never lied to you.”

“You kept something from me that I should have been told, which . . . isn’t a lie, but it’s not being truthful, either.”

“The truth,” Heath said quietly, “is that I couldn’t tell you. For all I knew, you’d fall to pieces if you found out Raine hadn’t left Boston. I’m usually on the mark when it comes to guessing what your reactions are going to be . . . but not where Raine is concerned. So when I received her message, and found out that she wouldn’t leave until she and I had a chance to talk privately, I thought the best thing to do was take care of everything myself. Cin, I know what it must look like, but you don’t really believe that Raine and I . . .” He stopped abruptly. Lucy knew what he was asking.

“No,” she said simply, and she felt his body relax as if in relief. “I don’t believe you would ever be unfaithful to me, even if you were in love with another woman. You have too much honor. You have too much—”

“I’m not in love with her.”

“I . . . I didn’t think you were.”

“I never was.”

“All the same, you shouldn’t have avoided telling me that she was still here.”

“At the time it seemed like the best way to handle it.”

“I understand that,” she said carefully. “But when I found out she was in Boston after I thought she had left, I was afraid for a few minutes that I couldn’t trust you. If we’re afraid to be honest with each other . . . then this marriage is nothing but a sham.”

“Don’t say that.” Heath let go of the skeins of hair in his hands and settled his hands just below her br**sts, almost causing them to spill out of the towel as he pulled her back against him. “You have to trust me. I’m the only one in the world who cares more for your happiness than for his own.”

She covered his hands with hers, her heart beginning to pound as she heard the gentle obstinacy in his voice. “I want you to be able to trust me in the same way,” she said. “More than anything else, that’s what I wanted to tell you tonight. And if you’re willing, let’s just forget about the past few weeks and start off tomorrow with a clean slate.”

“And . . . that’s it? No arguments or—”

“You’d prefer to have an argument?”

“I’d expected a minor battle, at least.”

“Not over this. There’s nothing to argue about. We both want the same thing, don’t we?” She caressed the backs of his hands with her palms, and her whole body tingled with pleasure at being near him.

“Apparently so,” he said, sounding faintly bemused.

“I just want to know one thing . . . why did Raine stay? I told her before she left the house that I wouldn’t let you go.”

“She wanted to see if the old days still meant anything to me.”

“And what did you say?”

“That they didn’t.”

“I hope she believed you.”

“I know she did. Because I told her one other thing.”

“What?”

“I told her that I love you.” He felt the quiver that ran through her, and he rubbed his cheek against the softness of her hair. “Lucy, my beautiful girl . . . I thought you’d known it for a long time. But I should have told you out loud, long before now. I fell in love with you a year ago, the first time I held you in my arms.”

Lucy licked at a tear that had suddenly trickled down to the corner of her mouth. “There’s something you don’t know about me.”

“What is that?”

“I’m the kind of woman that needs to hear those words often.”

“I love you,” he repeated, and there was a smile in his voice.