Then the heat starts working its way through him.
His head tips back, and he lets out a slow breath.
I watch the tension drain out of his face and think, with absolutely no dignity at all, Well… that worked.
“Fine,” he says after a few seconds.
I smile.
“What?”
“You were right.”
“I know.”
One eye cracks open.
“Don’t start.”
Too late.
I slide a little closer through the water until my knee bumps his.
He notices immediately.
“Careful,” he mutters. “Or I’ll take you right here, second-degree burns and all.”
I grin.
“Relax.”
He studies me for a second, then closes his eyes again and sinks a little deeper into the water.
“You are the most exhausting woman I know.”
“And yet,” I say sweetly, “you got in the tub.”
I place my hands on his shoulders.
Warm skin. Solid muscle. Tension sitting right where it always does.
“Lean back,” I murmur.
He doesn’t argue.
He shifts carefully, like he’s done this before.
Like it’s normal.
His eyes close again, his breathing slow and steady while the heat from the bath works its way through him.
Then I reach for the water.
I cup it in my hands and pour it slowly over his hair, letting it run across his scalp and down the back of his neck. I do it again, making sure his hair is completely wet before my fingers move in.
My nails drag lightly across his scalp.
He exhales.
