The two attendants melt into the fog, retreating from the room like apparitions and quietly close the bathroom door behind them.
The water laps against my skin, the steam rising around me, and for a moment, I allow myself to soften into the decadence of it all as I reach for the goblet of wine. I take a long sip and let out another contented sigh while I sink deeper into the bath, the warmth seeping into my bones.
I grab the closest pomegranate, dried lavender buds tickling my skin and clinging to my arm as I pluck out a ruby-red seed and toss it into my mouth. The tart juice bursts on my tongue, and I’m already peeling back the scored flesh and gathering a handful of seeds before I’ve swallowed my first.
You don’t belong here, Hannah.
The thought slams into me, and I drop the plump seeds into the bathwater as tension coils in my chest.
This realm may be beautiful and luxurious, but it’s not mine. I swallow the lingering tang ofpomegranate. This isn’t my world. And this definitely is not my life.
I take another long pull of wine, drowning the thought. I have to play a part—the role of Lady Ashwood—if I have any hope of getting back home.
One step at a time, I remind myself, curling my fingers around the goblet.One step at a time.
Sixteen
It could be the wine talking, or it could be the fact that I’m actually relaxed for the first time in, well, maybe ever, but this is the best pomegranate I’ve ever eaten. I wiggle my toes, relishing the tangy sweetness of the fruit while blissfully unaware of the world beyond the copper confines of the tub. Juice cascades down my chest, creating a sticky scarlet mess that mingles with the lavender buds that scent the air and float languidly on the surface of the bath, but I’m too relaxed to care.
The door to the bathroom opens noiselessly, the steam shifting, sending a rush of cool air through the haze. It feels like I’ve only been in the bath for a few minutes, but I don’t have my phone or a clock, so it’s hard to know for sure. Regardless, getting out of this tub is the last thing I want to do.
“I guess this is what they mean when they say ‘time flies when you’re having fun,’” I toss over my shoulder to the attendant who’s come back to make sure I don’tshrivel into a waterlogged prune. “Actually, I’m not sure you have that saying here. Within this kingdom, I mean. It’s definitely a thing we say in Cups.”
Keeping hold of my fresh pomegranate in one hand, I grip the side of the tub with the other and push myself to my feet, my back to the maid. Water slides down my slight curves, splashing silently into the bath. “I do understand Lady Whitmore’s obsession with these, though,” I say, popping another seed into my mouth before glancing down at the scarlet rivulets painting my chest. “Although eating in the bath was a terrible idea.”
I turn to face the maid and gasp. A flush of warmth that has nothing to do with the bathwater spreads through me.
Kane stands there, the thick lines of his body outlined by the dim candlelight. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, his gaze capturing mine. Then that sinfully sweet smile curls his lips, and his dark eye sweeps over me. His gaze is a caress that lingers on each inch of my exposed skin. My heart skips a beat, then races, pounding against my chest. Every inch of me is hot and thrumming as he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, his stare smoldering with raw desire.
“Sweet enough to eat,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that rolls down my spine.
My grip goes slack, and the pomegranate slips from my hand before landing in the tub with a splash that bathes my naked thighs. “Fuck,” I mumble, my cheeks burning.
“Is that a request?”
My chest squeezes, the heat of his words searing through me. “I—I dropped my pomegranate.”
He laughs, dark and predatory, his gaze drifting down my chest, lingering on my bare breasts. “You seem to have two very perky, luscious pomegranates right there.”
A deeper flush spreads across my naked body, burning a vivid rose as I plunge back into the water. He stalks closer. The scents of pine and woodsmoke drifting from him make my mouth water.
“Kane, you should—” I start, but when I glance up, I gulp and my protests evaporate as he glides his hand along the swollen erection pressing against his tight breeches.
I keep ending up with a dick in my face.
Although Kane’s looks much bigger than the last one…
My heart hammers in my chest, each beat pulsing beneath my skin. Heat coils in my belly, deep and low, and I have to press my teeth against my bottom lip to keep from moaning as I imagine that same hand tracing the curves of my body, his lips against mine, his mouth hot and hungry, tasting me, claiming me.
Don’t be desperate, Hannah.
The thought is a sharp, sudden intrusion that rips through the heat twisting in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl my fingers around the copper rim of the tub, forcing down the need licking through me in feverish waves.
Don’t want him more than he wants you. You always confuse hormones and pleasure and sex with real feelings, and you always get hurt.
With a shaky breath, I force my lids open, my gaze darting to Kane’s face and the eye patch shielding one of his wicked eyes, the other gleaming with hunger. The room feels smaller somehow, his presence pressing in on me from all sides as if the space between us hascondensed into a tangible, living thing, thick with heat and steam and the heady scents of lavender and wine and pomegranates.
The gleam in Kane’s eye makes me tremble as he claims the distance between us and kneels beside the tub. His large hand dips into the water, the muscles in his forearm flexing as his fingers wrap around the pomegranate bobbing at the surface. He captures the fruit and lifts it from the bath. Water beads along its scarlet skin, droplets cascading down its sides as he holds the pomegranate just above the water’s surface. He pauses, his stare never leaving mine, and the room seems to hold its breath.
