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“Make it…hot,” I said with a sassy over-the-shoulder grin.
He just chuckled.
When I returned, soft music played on hidden speakers, and the tub was half-full. Zaq removed the gauze dressing on my side and discarded it, then had me lift my arm so he could examine my wound.
He gave a satisfied nod. “It’s healing nicely. You should be okay to go in the water.”
I examined it in the large mirror that ran the length of the bathroom counter. The hole in my side had closed up, the scab a healthy-looking dark red.
“Nice. You do good work, Kral.”
“Thanks.” He dropped a kiss on my nose. “Let’s get you undressed.”
He removed his leather bracelets and set them on the counter. I lifted my arms and he eased off my bra. His gaze fixed on my breasts like he couldn’t look away, which made my nipples bead.
He groaned. “Keep teasing me, and you’re going to get fucked so hard.”
Arousal lanced from my breasts to my core. I slanted a look at him from beneath my lashes, testing my newfound flirting powers, my mouth stretching in a pleased smile. To hear Zaq, you’d think I was a freaking femme fatale, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Still, I couldn’t help being happy—no, thrilled—that he thought so.
His eyes darkened. “What?” He ran his thumb over my lower lip.
“You’re looking at me like you want to eat me up.”
“Because I do.”
A warm, liquid heat twisted through my belly. My breasts felt heavy, sensitive.
I put my hands on his chest, letting my nipples brush against his curly dark hair, and kissed him on the lips. “Hold that thought.”
“Oh, I will.” His big hands palmed my ass, squeezed. “Now get in the tub.”
I stripped off my boyshorts and Zaq helped me into the slipper tub. It was long enough for me to stretch out in with a foot or two left over. Behind it, nooks set at different levels in the tiled walls displayed fat white candles and a few perfect shells.
I eased back into the steaming water with a contented sigh.
“Too hot?” he asked.
“No. It’s perfect. It feels so good.” I sank lower in the water.
“Good.” He turned off the faucet, soaped up a cloth and started washing me—my breasts, my throat, my arms.
He brushed his fingers over a deep bruise on my right triceps. “Whoever sent George after us is going to pay for every damn bruise,” he promised in a harsh, syndicate-prince voice. “I thought Spider had more control over his people.”
I moved a shoulder. “I’ve had worse.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Like fuck you have. How many times have you almost died, anyway?”
“I don’t know—five times, maybe six? You can’t think about it. If you do, you’re constantly afraid. And when you’re afraid, you make mistakes. You’re too cautious—or worse, too bold. The blood-suckers can’t sense my emotions, but they’re not stupid. They can read body language, same as a human—maybe even better because they’ve been around for so many lifetimes. They can tell when you’re afraid.”
His brows lowered. “You shouldn’t have to live your life like that.”
“I went into SI with my eyes wide open. I knew what I was getting into.”
“You must’ve been a teenager when you started training.”
“Well, yeah,” I said, not sure where he was going with this. “We all are.”
“That’s too damn young to give your life to a cause.”
