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“You’re beautiful to see. Just like this.”
She whispered something in French and Daniel cursed himself for spending the last year and a half perfecting his Spanish and Portuguese. He even knew how to ask, “Which is the safest bush for pissing on?” in Quechua. Instead he should have been learning some damn French.
“What was that?” he asked and decided to start brushing up on his French first chance he got—that day, preferably.
“Vous aussi,” she repeated. Anya looked up at him from the floor. Any remaining fear had disappeared from her gaze. Only innocent trust remained in her wide eyes. “You also.”
Daniel said nothing, only smiled. He stepped away from her and sank into the steaming bathwater. Without even waiting for his order, Anya stood up, took off her shoes and came to the bathtub. He leaned forward to make room for her to sit on the edge of the tub behind him, then leaned back, forcing Anya to spread her legs so he could settle between her knees. When she reached for the bath sponge, he turned his head and bit her lightly on the inside of her thigh. She flinched and kicked water.
“So much for submission.” Daniel grabbed a towel and wiped water off his face. “Was nice while it lasted.”
“You could have warned me you were going to bite me.”
“It’s not as much fun if you know it’s coming.”
Anya huffed peevishly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m trying my best. I’m…nervous.”
“And I’m not making it easier on you, am I?”
“You are not. You’re very attractive and very…big. Tall.”
“I’m five-eleven. One inch shorter than Kingsley, remember?” he teased. “Although we’re fairly well-matched in one other area.”
“Is that so?” she asked.Iz zat so?Could her accent be any sexier? Daniel thought about it, decided the answer was no. “You’ve seen him naked?”
“This is Kingsley Edge we’re talking about. There are only three people in the city who haven’t seen him naked. And they’ve all been in comas since the late eighties.”
Anya laughed as she started scrubbing his shoulders with the sponge. He leaned forward again to give her access to his back.
“Monsieuris so strange to me. His French isparfait. It’s obvious he is from France. But his name isn’t French.”
“His real last name is French and it’s as long as his…it’s a big name. Boissonneault. And the ‘Kingsley’ is American because his American mother named him.”
“His mother is American? I can’t wait to mock him for that.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Why not?”
He looked up at her. “I’ll get jealous. I’m the only one I want you being mean to.”
Anya smiled down at him. Then she wrung the sponge out on his face.
Daniel tore the sponge from her hands and rubbed it on her face. Squealing, she raised her arms to block his assault as she let loose a stream of words that he felt reasonably certain constituted some of the worst insults in the French language. Finally he relented and threw the sponge on the floor all the way across the spacious bathroom.
“You’re dangerous with that thing,” he said.
“How am I supposed—”
“Use your hands.”
Anya mumbled something under her breath as she picked up a bar of soap and lathered it up between her hands. Slapping her hands hard onto his wet shoulders, she began to knead his taut muscles.
“You might get better access if you joined me in the bath,” Daniel said and wished he could see her face.
“I would get wet.”
