Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(53)

Then he tugs at my sleep shirt again.

“Mal, I can’t. I can’t get naked in front of you. If this wound doesn’t kill me, the embarrassment will.”

“Embarrassment over what?”

“You seeing me naked!”

“I’ve already seen you naked. I just explained that.”

“You haven’t seen me naked while I’m awake!”

“So you want to smell like a pig pen, is that it?”

“No!”

“Then let me give you a bath.”

“You say that like I’m the unreasonable one!”

“The faster you get over your useless modesty, the faster this will be done.”

“Mal—”

“I promise I won’t look at anything, how’s that?”

“Right. You won’t look at anything while you’re washing my hair and all my naked parts. I’m sure that will be very easy for you.”

“Easier than living with your stench.”

“You know what? I just decided I hate you.”

“Hate me all you want in the bathtub.”

We stand in silence after that. Him waiting patiently, me glaring daggers at his head. I get the sense he’d wait until the end of time before speaking again, so I go first.

“Can’t you understand what this must be like for me?”

“Yes, I can. And I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But you’re not steady enough to get in and out of the tub by yourself or lift the pitcher to rinse your hair. I doubt you even have the strength to lift a bar of soap.”

He seems sincere, but I narrow my eyes at him anyway.

This is a man who kills people for a living. I’m sure he’s quite the accomplished liar.

“I won’t force you,” he says softly. “It’s your choice. I just want to help you feel better. I think a bath will do that.”

“So I could ask you to take me back to bed, and you will?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t hesitate, which makes a dent in my hostility. I glance at the water longingly, imagining what it would be like to sink into it. To wash the ripe smells of sickness and stale sweat off my skin.

“Fuck it,” I mutter. Then I turn and give him a hard look. “But don’t make it weird!”

He’s smart enough not to respond to that.

When he turns his back, it confuses me. “What are you doing?”

“Would you prefer I stare at you while you take off your nightgown?”

Look who’s decided to be a gentleman.

Sighing, I remove my glasses and set them on the sink. This will be easier if I can’t see anything. Then I grab the neckline of the sleep shirt and try to pull it over my head. It’s a struggle and leaves me breathless, but I manage it.

When I’m standing there in my underwear, I cross my arms over my chest and whisper, “Okay.”

He turns, picks me up in his arms, and lowers me slowly into the water, kneeling down beside the tub until I’m all the way in, sitting up with my legs sticking out in front of me.

Covering my breasts with my arms, I bow my head.

He murmurs, “I’m going to help you lie back.”

I nod. I feel burning and tingling in my cheeks and know they’re scarlet.

Supporting my shoulders with an arm around them, he lowers my upper body until I’m resting against the back of the tub. I know I look ridiculous in panties that are now wet, but at least they’re black, so he can’t see right through them.

He cradles my head in his hand and asks if I want a towel to support my neck.

“Yes, please.”

I’ve never spoken two more difficult words. My self-consciousness is searing.

He places a rolled-up hand towel under my neck. Then he dips the pitcher into the bathwater and tips it over my head, massaging my scalp as the warm water runs through my hair.

It feels so good, I almost groan aloud in pleasure. But that’s nothing compared to the bliss I experience when he works shampoo through my hair with both his hands.

His fingers are strong and gentle. He takes his time, making circles with his thumbs at my temples, stroking under the back of my head and neck, lightly squeezing the muscles at the base of my skull as he lathers my hair.

I spend a brief moment worried I might be drooling, but quickly surrender to the loveliness of it, the overwhelming luxury of the sensation. After less than a full minute, I feel drunk. Exhaling, I drop my arms from my chest and let my hands float by my hips in the water.

Mal starts to talk to me.

The pace unhurried and the tone low, he speaks in Russian. It sounds like he’s telling a story or explaining something important. I know it’s on purpose, that he’s deliberately not speaking English so I won’t understand, but somehow it doesn’t bother me.

He continues to speak as he rinses my hair. The water splashing into the metal tub sounds like rain on a rooftop. He speaks as he dips a bar of soap and a washcloth into the water. Speaks as he gently washes my arms, armpits, chest, and neck.

By the time he’s washing my feet, kneading my soles with those strong fingers, I’m in a stupor. My head lolls sideways. My eyes are closed. My breaths are slow and deep.

And still, he’s talking.

I don’t ask what he’s saying. I don’t want to break the spell.