Page 143 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“Taking a shower?”

“I need to wash the day off.” She came closer and ran her fingers down the front of my T-shirt. “And I think you do, too.”

If only hot water and soap were enough to wash this day away. But if a shower was what my woman needed, a shower was what she’d have. “I do.”

We helped each other undress, slow and tender around our injuries. We were both an absolute mess. When her shirt came off, the full extent of the bruising sent me back to our standoff at the safe room. I imagined a different ending, with a shot much higher than the one I’d made. Part of me understood which option my father had chosen with Ethan.

In the moment, I’d seen Rick grab Gwen and reach for his hip. I knew he had a gun. Was that the hip it was on? Was he going for a knife instead? Did it matter?

In Prague a couple of months ago, we’d underestimated who we were up against, and one of my men nearly died. The second Rick had moved, my muscle memory took over, and I’d mitigated the risk. If he’d produced a weapon—or if I’d known how many times he’d hurt Gwen—I would have eliminated it.

“I’m safe, Arthur.” Her hand found my cheek. “You saw to that.”

“Gwen.” What else could I do? Get angry? Apologize? Threaten to go back and finish the job?

She stepped in close and laid her palm over my bruised ribs, feather-light. “Look at the pair of us.”

“You should see the other guys.”

“I did. Eleven of them, cuffed in a parlor.” The half of her mouth that could smile did. “My guys were better.”

I kissed her unbruised cheek and helped her into the shower. I washed her hair. She hadn’t asked, but her head tipped back into my hands the second the shampoo touched her, and her whole weight came with it. I worked the lather from her scalp to the ends, shielding her split cheek from the spray and tilting her head so the water ran away from the cuts.

She hummed, long and low. “You’ve done this before.”

“I haven’t.”

“Liar. You’re a natural.” She said it absently, no teasing anywhere in her voice. She turned, hair rinsed clean and slicked back, and kissed me.

I kept my hands at her waist and let her set the pace.

“I keep replaying tonight.” Her palms flattened on my chest. “The men. The gear. The explosion.”

“That was just a threat. You know that, right? I wouldn’t have put you in danger.”

“Of course I do.” Water beaded on her lashes. “Because you’re a man of honor. No matter what you think of yourself, don’t forget that. You’re not just a Penn. You’re not just your father’s son. You’d do anything for the people you care about, and that’s the honest read of who you are.”

From the day I was born, I’d been evaluated by my name. Whatever I accomplished, I was always Gerald Penn’s son. Except that wasn’t true. It had never been true, had it?

“I want you in my life, Gwen.” I smoothed her wet hair back. “It’s a lot, and it’s very sudden, but… You said I had a reserve of love built up inside me. I want to share all of it with you. Every bit.”

She gave a fraction of a smile, hooked her leg around mine, and drew me in until no water fit between us. “I’d like that.”

Her hands looped around my neck and pulled me down to her, and for a while we kissed, barely touching—all we could do with the damage—as warm water pooled where our bodies touched. Her hand left my neck, slid down my stomach, and closed around my cock. Everything I’d been telling myself about letting her rest went down the drain with the soap.

“Gwen,” I hissed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” She stroked me slowly, her thumb dragging over the head, and my hips pushed into her hand. “They’re bruises. Nothing significant.”

I navigated a hand between her legs. She was slick in a way the water couldn’t fake, and when I found her clit, she dropped her forehead to my shoulder—keeping her bruised cheek off me. I worked her, unhurried, pulling the breath out of her. I curled one and then two fingers inside her while my thumb kept its slow rhythm, until her thighs started to shake and her hand went still.

“Arthur,” she moaned. “The condoms are in⁠—”

“I know where they are.” With another quick kiss to her temple, I stepped out of the shower, retrieved a condom from her toiletry bag, and rolled it on.

She hauled me back into the shower.

“I’ve got you.” I inched her back until her shoulders met the tile, out of the spray, and lifted her with my good arm. “Stop me if anything hurts. Anything at all.”