The Darkest Hour (KGI #1)(41)

She shook her head, precariously close to running as hard and as fast from the house as she could.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked gently.

She turned in a tight circle. The walls, the furnishings seemed to close in on her and mock her. They called her a fraud and told her she didn’t belong.

“Are you sure I belong here?”

“Come here,” he said as he pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly, resting his chin on top of her head. “You belong wherever I am. You belong with me. Always. I know this has to be overwhelming for you, but we’ll get past it. Just promise me that when something frightens you that you’ll tell me so I can make it better.”

She squeezed him, holding on as tight as she could. She inhaled his scent and felt the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against her cheek. They could do this. She could do this.

Finally she pulled away and then reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “Show me around?”

“I’d be glad to.”

As they wandered through the house, Rachel’s frustration grew. She felt no kinship to this place.

“This is our bedroom and through that door is the master bath,” Ethan said as they walked into a spacious room.

The furnishings seemed feminine. Even the bed was a four-poster with a frilly bedspread. It was hard for her to imagine Ethan in such a setting.

“It doesn’t look like you,” she said slowly.

He smiled. “I have the decorating sense of a mule.”

“But it doesn’t look like me either,” she said helplessly.

“It’s exactly you. Calm, uncluttered. Feminine and beautiful.”

She shook her head, hating those words. Words she’d used to describe the living room exactly. They weren’t her. She walked blindly toward the bathroom, just wanting an escape.

The bathroom was large, with a Jacuzzi tub and a separate shower. The toilet was in its own tiny closet and there were his-and-her sinks lining the wall. But her gaze locked onto the tub.

A distant memory floated by on a cloud, lazy and unhurried. The splash of water. Her sitting in the tub, the water up to her chest. Ethan. She blinked as the image came more sharply into focus.

She was in his arms, leaning against his chest as the water lapped over her br**sts. His hands cupped them, his thumbs brushing over the taut peaks. A shiver stole over her body.

And then his fingers through her hair as he soaped the long tresses. Her hands automatically went to her head, to her shorn locks. Her hair had been much longer then.

“Will you take a bath with me?” she blurted.

He blinked in surprise, and for a long moment he didn’t say anything. He seemed to struggle with exactly what to say, how to respond.

“You used to wash my hair. I remember you touching me.”

Fire built in his eyes, sparking the blue until it resembled a storm front.

“Are you sure, baby? I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

She shrugged, hating the awkwardness of asking her husband, her husband, to be intimate with her again.

“I just want you to hold me.”

He drew her into his arms, and to her surprise, he trembled against her. Was he as adrift as she was? In some ways this had to be even harder for him. He had memories that she didn’t. He could recall how it was between them and miss what they’d lost.

“Have a seat on the bed. I’ll draw the water and then we’ll get undressed together, okay? Mom bought you some new clothes and left them on the bed, so you can pick out something to wear while the water is running.”

She nodded and retreated to the bedroom. There were several shopping bags on the bed, and she sat down and opened one. Jeans, tops, even socks and a new pair of tennis shoes. There was also a bra and several pairs of underwear.

She glanced down self-consciously as she realized she hadn’t worn a bra in longer than she could remember. Or underwear.

Unbidden the image of a man ripping her clothing and her underwear from her flashed in her mind. And then another man stepping between him and her, shoving her attacker away. She’d huddled naked on the dirt floor of the hut while they’d argued, and then her rescuer had shoved her tattered clothing back at her, minus her unsalvageable underthings.

She hadn’t thought—or remembered—that instance until now. Her attacker was dead. But her savior? Who was he and why had he cared what the other man did to her?

With nervous fingers, she pulled out the lacy panties and the bra that somehow looked too large for her small br**sts. How would she look in them now? Even she knew she had to be thinner. Suddenly the idea of taking a bath with Ethan didn’t seem so appealing.

She clutched the clothing to her and waited with growing dread for Ethan to come out. A few moments later, he appeared in the doorway, his body language as tense as hers.

“The water’s drawn. Are you ready?”

She stood and met his gaze. “Maybe I should go in first. Can . . . can you give me a few minutes to get into the tub before you come in?”

“Absolutely, baby. Take as much time as you need.”

He gestured for her to go in, and when she passed him, he quietly closed the door behind her. She walked over to the sinks and laid the clothing on the counter.

When she looked up, she caught the first look of herself in the mirror. She was momentarily startled. The woman staring back at her with wide, frightened eyes didn’t feel like her.