“And no, I don’t have a wife or girlfriend.” He’s moved around to the other side of the bath, and leans on the edge, regarding me levelly. “There hasn’t been anyone for years. But now there’s you.”
He reaches down and it takes me a second to realise what he’s doing. He’s rolled up his sleeves, revealing a pattern of black tattoos over his forearms, and picks up a pristine white washcloth. His arms are bulky and strong, and as he lifts my foot. I’m too shocked to object, and too entranced by the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms as he cleans my foot. The tattoos—mainly patterns, but I can identify eyes disfigured in various ways, and some kind of long blackberry fruits held in a skeleton hand, the red juice dripping over the bone—disappear up under his shirt.
I want to see what he looks like when he’s fully revealed. It’s a sensation I’ve never had before. Boys haven’t interested me, but Zane…
He has a gentle touch, and he makes low, rumbling sounds of apology but says nothing when I wince and hiss as he picks out the grit and mud and brushes the small cuts until both my feet are perfectly pink. A London mafia boss cleans my tootsies without a word, as though this is completely normal.
6
ZANE
Willow’s feet are small and delicate in my big hands, and this whole thing is arousing in ways I cannot explain, even though the little cuts make me want to roar with fury at whoever did this to her. Which is unfortunate, since it’s her and me.
I like caring for Willow, which is new. I’ve been more likely to kill than comfort for a long time.
When I’m convinced that her feet are perfectly clean and anything more would be obvious that I just need to touch her, I lift her legs and steady her shoulder so she’s out of the bath without having been caught up in that impractical dress.
My fingers stay on her upper arms for a second longer than strictly necessary.
I force myself to let go.
“There’s a shower if you prefer.” My hands twitch towards her, and I take a distinct step backwards to prevent myself. Not touching her feels wrong, so wrong. But it can’t be helped. “Or run the bath again.”
One more movement away and it’s torture. But while I will steal a kiss, give her what she needs, and accept no fucking nonsense about looking after her, even I know that we aren’t at the “share a shower” point. Yet.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
I’m at the door when her small voice says the word I want to hear on her lips constantly.
“Zane.”
7
WILLOW
He stops instantly and turns, and my heart bounces. Is it that easy for me to have his attention if I want it? The words stick in my throat on a lump that has formed.
His expression is steady and serious as he waits with apparently endless patience.
“I can’t get out of this on my own,” I confess.
Only his eyes move, scanning down the wedding dress.
“It has ties at the back. No zip. And I can’t undo them.”
He stalks around me—that sounds silly, but it really is the only word for it—and I stand perfectly still, as though I’m his little prey again. Like if I don’t move, and don’t attract attention, I’ll escape.
The first touch of his hands to my silk-covered back is so gentle I shouldn’t even be able to feel it. But I’m attuned to this man in some way I can’t explain.
He sighs deeply.
“What is it?”
“The knots tightened when you ran from me.” There’s a hint of judgement in his tone, and he pauses. “Do you like this dress?”
“No. Ihateit.” I didn’t know I felt quite so strongly until someone—Zane—asked me my opinion.
“Good.”
