After switching on the shower, he flicks off his black polished dress shoes before setting to work on the belt wrapped around his waist. I stand muted, grateful his riveting striptease is pushing my haunted memories to the back of my mind.
I follow the trail his fingers make as he undoes the buttons on his dress shirt before slinging it off his shoulders. My eyes absorb and categorize every inch of his torso. His muscles are so well-defined that his skin is pulled tautly over them, but he isn't overly musclebound in a bulky bodybuilder type of way.
When he slides his trousers down his thighs, I’m not at all surprised to see that his penis is flaccid. This isn’t about relieving sexual tension. He's comforting me as the aftershocks of my nightmare cling to my sweat-slicked skin.
Kicking his trousers to the side, he curls his arms around my neck to unlatch the fastener of my dress. Scenes from my nightmare rush to the forefront of my mind when his hand brushes past my neckline. He's barely touching me, but I swear I can feel my assailant’s hand wrapped around my throat, strangling me.
“No one will ever hurt you, Blaire. Not while you’re with me,” Rico assures me as he lowers the zipper on my dress.
Once the fastener has been pulled down to the two dimples in my lower back, my dress slips off my hips and puddles around my feet. Steam curls around us when we enter the shower. As the heavenly hot water sluices down the front of me, Rico's body heats my back. His fingers lace together around my stomach as the stubble on his chin scratches my neck. He doesn't speak; he just comforts me by solely using his body. I close my eyes, allowing the water and Rico to chase away the remnants of a nightmare still playing havoc with my body.
When the violent shudders tormenting me have eased, Rico steps away from me. I inwardly sigh. My disappointment doesn’t last long when he snags a shower puff from the tiled hob and loads it up with body wash. My nostrils flare when the spicy, intoxicating scent graces my senses. The smell is virile and manly, and it pushes the ghastly odor of blood and sweat to the background of my mind.
Remaining quiet, Rico lathers every inch of my skin with a thick layer of suds. His dutifulness causes a fresh batch of tears to well in my eyes. I should relish being so loyally cared for, but my mind wanders to Katie and her present situation. Is she being taken care of by the man she married, or is she. . . A sob tears from my throat, my body choosing its own response to the life Katie is most likely living.
“Kitten.” His voice sounds as pained as my heart.
He slings his arms around my torso and draws me in close to his chest. Tears flow from my eyes as steadily as the water pumps out of the shower faucet.
“I should have never begged her to come with me. She didn’t want to go. She said it was nearly dusk. But I pushed and pushed,” I sob, my voice coming out with a quiver. “It’s all my fault.”
Rico pulls me back by my shoulders and glances into my eyes. “It was not your fault. None of it was your fault.”
I suck in a shaky breath while shaking my head.
His fingers flex on my shoulders, his demeanor switching from consoling to stern. “Nothing that happened that day was your fault.” He stares me straight in the eyes as I did during our tussle in the Escalade last week and quotes, “Nothing.”
I try to speak, but no words can squeeze past the lump in my throat. When Rico reaches for the shampoo, I close my eyes and let the words he spoke play on repeat in my mind. I've been told the same phrase time and time again the past ten years, but for some reason, hearing them from Rico has a much greater impact.
I was only a child the day I begged Katie to walk to the corner store with me to get an ice cream, but it doesn't lessen my guilt. When she said she didn't want to go, I should have respected her decision. Instead, I insisted. I was a teenager, and I didn't want to be strangled by my overbearing parents for a minute longer. I was wrong. So very very wrong.
The thump of my head lessens under the magic of Rico’s fingers as he washes my hair without a peep spilling from his lips. Once all the suds have gargled down the drain, he shuts down the water and steps out of the shower recess, carefully taking me with him. He pays the same dedicated attention to drying my hair as he did washing it before he paces to the vanity. My brows furrow when a fluffy bathrobe magically appears in his hands.
“Maya brought them in while you were sleeping,” he informs my shocked expression.
He wraps me up in the heavenly softness of cashmere before scooping me into his arms. I’ll be honest, even in the heart-strangling situation we are immersed in, I love the way he can carry me with such ease. He makes me feel guarded and safe.
“Bed or food?” he asks when we enter the main area of our bedroom.
I drift my eyes between the silver serving tray stacked with breakfast delights on my left and our bed on my right.
“Bed.”
I’m not tired; my tummy is just too swishy to handle any food right now.
Rico pulls down the covers of the bed and places me inside before ambling to a set of drawers to dress in a pair of boxer shorts and a short-sleeve shirt. After running his fingers through his hair to remove the excess droplets of water, he slips into the bed beside me, then gathers me in his arms.
Chapter 18
We’ve been lying in bed for nearly twenty minutes before Rico breaks the silence. “Have you been suffering nightmares this whole time?” He carefully pulls me back so he can peer into my eyes.
Usually, this type of question fills me with shame, but because it’s coming from him while he's looking at me with nothing but remorse in his eyes, I don’t feel as embarrassed admitting I'm an adult who suffers from debilitating nightmares.
I nod. "Yes. They aren’t usually as bad as the one today. This one felt like I was back in the alleyway. It was one of the most realistic dreams I've had the past ten years."
He runs his index finger under my eyes as if he's preparing to catch my tears before they have the chance to fall. "Is it because of thesituationyou’ve been thrown into?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. . . maybe?”
