Page 179 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

"I missed you too," Caspian said. "Every moment."

Caroline leaned forward and kissed him—gentle and sweet and full of welcome.

When she pulled back, she reached for the soap and shampoo arranged on the edge of the pool.

"Let me take care of you," she said.

Caspian nodded, unable to form words.

Caroline worked the shampoo into a lather in her hands, then began working it through his hair. Her fingers massaged his scalp in slow, soothing circles.

Caspian closed his eyes with a groan. "That feels amazing."

"You're so tense," Caroline observed, her fingers working carefully. "All this travel and fighting—you need to relax."

"I'm relaxed now," Caspian said.

"Liar," Caroline teased. "Your shoulders are like stone."

She rinsed the shampoo from his hair, using a small pitcher to pour warm water over his head. Her movements were gentle, careful not to get soap in his eyes.

Then she picked up the soap and began washing his shoulders and chest.

Her hands moved over his skin with tender care, following the lines of muscle, tracing old scars. Not seductive—though there was certainly awareness between them—but caring. Taking care of him.

Caspian's arms came around her waist as she worked, holding her gently.

She continued washing him, her hands moving across his chest, down his arms. She lifted each of his hands and carefully cleaned them, paying attention to his fingers, his palms.

"You work so hard," Caroline said softly. "Fighting to protect everyone. Never complaining. Never yielding."

"It's my duty," Caspian said.

"I know," Caroline said. "But that doesn't make it less exhausting. Or less dangerous."

She moved to wash his back, and Caspian leaned forward to give her better access. Her hands worked over his shoulder blades, down his spine.

Then her fingers found a particularly tight knot in his shoulder, and she pressed gently.

Caspian jerked slightly—not from pain, but from the ticklish sensation.

Caroline paused. "Did that tickle?"

"No," Caspian lied.

She pressed the same spot again, and Caspian couldn't help it—he laughed. Actually laughed, the sound surprised even to his own ears.

"You're ticklish," Caroline said, delighted. "The Butcher of the North is ticklish."

"Caroline—" Caspian warned.

But she was already experimenting, finding other spots that made him twitch or laugh. His sides, just below his ribs. The back of his neck when she used just her fingertips.

"This is important information," Caroline said, grinning. "For future reference."

"You're terrible," Caspian said, but he was smiling.

"You love it," Caroline countered.