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Then Whitney.
She was all grit and determination, refusing to back down even after she’d been shot at. What kind of woman could stand up to two monsters without blinking?
One that I owned.
Jesus Christ.
I turned off the water, grabbing a towel and washcloth before returning to the main cabin. She was as curled up in as tight ball as possible in a leather airplane chair. This time as I gathered her into my arms, her eyes opened wide, and she pushed her palm against my chest.
“What are you doing?” Her tone was challenging, as I would expect, the defiance in her eyes a reminder of the fire and brimstone I’d seen several times.
“Getting you warm.”
“I can do it myself.” While she struggled to get out of my hold, her exhaustion wouldn’t allow her limbs to move the way she wanted them to. Frustrated, she wrinkled her nose, the quirky action forcing my cock to throb. Then she pressed her fisted hand against my cheek, a strangled whimper escaping her mouth.
“You’ll have plenty of time to try and punch me for real later, beauty. I don’t want you catching cold.”
“That’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Would you prefer to stay in your wet clothes?” I asked as I moved into the bathroom, lowering her onto the counter.
“I told you I can do it myself.”
“Uh-huh. You’re drunk from the adrenaline rush.” I should have known better than to take my eyes off her for a second to test the water’s temperature.
She hopped off, her body teetering. When I caught her in my arms, the momentum pushed us close enough her lips were dangerously close to mine. Enough so it was all I could not to capture her mouth, making good on my earlier desire.
Her breathing scattered, she pressed both hands against me but didn’t try to scramble from my hold. The wistful appearance of her eyes, the golden flecks that always shimmered in the sun became dark with another round of anger.
“Be careful,omorfiá. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
Grinning, as I started to remove her dress, she glared at me with all the hatred in the world. But the glint of rage slowly faded as I pulled the dress over her head, tossing it aside. When I gingerly lifted her leg, tugging the sandal from her foot, repeating on her other foot, she pinched her lips together.
“There you go again dissecting me,” I said as I rolled my hand down her flat stomach, sliding my fingers under the thin elastic of her thong.
“There’s a lot more to dissect since I know you’re a flesh-eating monster.” Even her words, as biting as they were, seemed slurred. The events had taken a significant toll on her.
I sensed just how drained she was when she didn’t fight me when I removed her thong. As I eased her from the counter, her body continuing to sway, she finally gripped my arms.
“Just to make certain you know. I will always hate you.”
As I lifted her into the water, I took a deep breath. Even soaked from rainwater and perspiration, her sweet scent drifted into my nostrils. I’d never bathed a human being in my life but as I crowded onto my knees, reaching over the grab the washcloth from the counter, it struck me how natural this seemed.
Too much so.
She stared at me with half open eyes the entire time, barely blinking and remaining silent. I sensed the dozens of questions she would ultimately demand to be answered. I wasn’t certain that giving them to her would make her feel any better.
When she floated an arm out of the water, lifting her index finger toward me as she pursed her lips, I waited to hear what she felt so compelled to say.
As she drifted off to sleep again, I fell into the realm of being a sadistic voyeur, every thought filthy. One thing stood out in my mind. I hadn’t lied to her. I was a very bad man.
CHAPTER13
Whitney
Warmth.
