Page 18 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

I don't know why that gets to me as much as it does. It's only hot water, but the fact that he planned for it—that he expected me and had something waiting when I arrived—lands harder.

Soren turns the water back on and tests the temperature with his hand before adjusting the tap. As the tub fills, the room takes on a soft herbal scent, something close to lavender without being overly sweet.

"Get undressed and get in."

"I can run my own bath." The words are out before I can stop them. "I'm perfectly capable of—"

"Margot."

I close my mouth.

He doesn't say anything else.

I undress with my back mostly to him, which feels ridiculous considering why I'm here, but Soren doesn't comment on it. He turns his attention to the taps instead, giving me enough privacy to climb into the tub without feeling watched.

The water is hot enough that my first instinct is to get straight back out, but after a few seconds my body starts to adjust. I sink deeper, letting the heat work into muscles I hadn't realized were tight.

Then Soren's hands settle on my shoulders, and I revise my understanding of hot.

His palms are warmer than the water. He works slowly over my shoulders, down my arms and across my back, easing out tension I've carried for so long I barely notice it anymore. He doesn't rush or fill the quiet with conversation. When he runs a soapy cloth over my skin, every movement is careful and thorough, and my brain immediately starts looking for ways to make the whole thing easier to deal with.

This is what I paid for. He does this for clients all the time. I'm an appointment on his calendar, and taking care of me for two hours is literally his job.

That works until he pours warm water through my hair.

One hand supports the back of my head while the other works shampoo through it, his fingers moving slowly over my scalp, and something inside me gives way.

I start to cry.

Quietly, because even now I can't fall apart without trying to be considerate about it. I keep my face turned away and hope the water hides enough of it that I can pull myself together before he notices.

But even if he does notice, his hands don't stop.

He doesn't ask what's wrong or make me explain myself. He doesn't go still and wait for me to get it under control. He just keeps washing my hair, as calm as he was before, while I sit there crying over something I couldn't explain even if he asked.

"There's no rush," he says quietly.

I stop trying to make myself stop. I sit there while he rinses the shampoo from my hair and works conditioner through the ends, and eventually the tightness in my chest eases enough that I can breathe without fighting it.

By the time the water starts to cool, I'm exhausted.

Soren helps me stand and has a thick towel around me almost immediately, wrapping it securely before I've finished pushing wet hair out of my face. Then he slides one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees.

"I can walk," I tell him, because there are some instincts even a minor emotional breakdown can't kill.

"Shhh, Margot."

He picks me up. It's only a few steps into the other room, but I don't fight him. He carries me to the bed and lowers me onto it carefully, leaving me wrapped in the towel as I sink back against the covers.

I should feel exposed. I'm naked under this towel, my eyes are probably swollen, and I just cried in front of a man I met less than an hour ago. Instead, with Soren standing beside the bed and the warmth of his hands still lingering on my skin, I feel strangely, impossibly peaceful.

I'm too wrung out to argue with it.

"Margot." Soren's thumb traces the edge of the towel without moving it. "I can tuck you in and sit with you until you're ready to go home. Or I can take care of the rest of you. Either answer is a good one."

"The second one," I whisper. "Please, sir."

"Good girl."