“Where were you?” I demand, sitting up taller in bed. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Kian avoids my gaze and heads toward the washroom, ignoring my questions.
Jumping out of bed, I follow him, anger at yet another man in my life withholding information pulsing through me.
“Are you going to answer me or not?” I demand.
“I need to get cleaned up, love, so unless youwantto see me naked, I’d advise leaving the washroom.” He starts peeling his leathers off, and my face immediately flushes in embarrassment . . . yet my curiosity is high.
I whirl around before I can see something I shouldn’t, but I stay in the room, listening to the sound of clothes hitting the floor and the thud of boots being thrown into the corner. “I . . . uhh . . . I expect an answer out of you,husband.”
Kian snorts a laugh. “So now I’m your husband, eh?”
I hold up my bare arm, flashing the mark at him, even though I don’t know if he’s looking. “That’s what this says!”
There’s a splash as water starts to fill the tub, and I tap my foot impatiently. Kian hasn’t lit any lamps, so the only illumination in the room comes from the moonlight faintly streaming in from the small window overhead.
I chance a glance over my shoulder, and my mouth waters for an entirely different reason. Kian’s back is to me, and the firm globes of his ass are on display. My eyes take in the muscled masterpiece, and I swallow audibly.
Kian looks over his shoulder, his eyes meeting mine for a brief second before I immediately turn away, embarrassed at being caught staring.
“Like what you see, love?” Kian’s voice is a caress down my skin, and I remember I’m only wearing a light shift that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
Another splash of water alerts me to the fact that he is now in the tub, followed by a soft groan and hiss.
I cross my arms over my chest, hoping to hide the hardened peaks of my nipples as I turn back to look at him. “Now, are you going to tell me where that ‘scratch’ came from?” I ask, daring to take a few steps closer.
Kian turns his head, observing my cautious approach, a sly smirk crossing his face. “I’m touched you’re so concerned for me.”
I shake my head in annoyance. “If you’re just going to make jokes, I’ll leave and call for the healer.”
“Wait, stop,” Kian says, his tone changing.
I tap my foot again impatiently. “You have no idea how much I hate when people lie to me or withhold truths, even when I directly ask. If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I?—”
“What do you mean?” Kian interjects. “Did something happen?”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “My father showed up.”
Kian uses a cloth to carefully clean himself, and I draw a little closer, realizing he’s covered in bruises.
“Shit, Kian. What have you been doing? Brawling?” I stop before I get any closer, not wanting to tempt myself to look any further. Besides, this is completely inappropriate, me getting turned on by an injured man.
Kian winces again, and I throw up my hands before grabbing the cloth from him, pulling a small stool over, and gently cleaning the area on his back he was unable to reach. I’m behind him, so I can’t see . . . much.
“Thanks,” he mutters. “I’m not used to someone taking care of me.”
I shrug, but then remember his back is to me. “It’s the least I can do. Iamyour wife after all.”
He chuckles.
I grab a pitcher and dunk it into the water, gently tilting his head back and soaking his dark locks.
“That feels nice,” he groans, and it sends a bolt of heat straight to my core.
I pour some soap into my hands and gently massage his scalp, careful not to get anywhere near the cut on his forehead.
Another quiet moan from Kian has me clenching my thighs together.
