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Charlotte’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “I don’t feel very strong right now, when all I want is for you to take care of me.”
“Strong women need to be taken care of too.” I reach toward the edge of the tub, where various bottles of shampoo, conditioner and bodywash sit. “Want me to wash your hair?”
“You’d do that for me?” She sounds shocked.
I would do anything for her. Just to make her feel safe. Just to see her smile. But I can’t say that.
Not yet.
Chapter Nine
Charlotte
After I dousemy hair with water until it’s completely soaked, Perry starts to shampoo it, his fingers massaging my scalp. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, the tension melting from my body as he keeps rubbing, the shampoo frothing up. His hands slip around my head, his thumbs sliding down the back of my neck, pressing deep, rotating circles and I can’t help it.
A moan leaves me.
“Sexy little wife,” he murmurs. “Likes having her head massaged.”
“Maybe you should wash my hair all the time,” I suggest, keeping my eyes closed. His touch is making my entire body tingle, which I didn’t expect, considering what I’ve gone through the last few hours.
But facing something awful also reminds you how good your life is, and how you should hold it close.
He grabs the cup I found earlier and starts to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. “We could probably work out a deal if that means we take a shower together every night.”
I like the idea of that—far too much. Perry and I naked in my big shower—or his, since they basically match. Our hands wandering as we soap up each other’s bodies. Touching, stroking, driving each other out of our minds.
The low throb between my legs intensifies.
I’m still thinking about what he admitted to me earlier—how I’m the only one he’s been with in the Chevelle. That surprised me. From what I’ve seen, Perry had a reputation with the ladies. But maybe none of them were special enough to take in the Chevelle.
Until me.
It’s probably silly to put so much importance on that little fact, but I can’t help it. That car means a lot to him. Like it’s his precious baby.
Perhaps I mean a lot to him too.
Keeping my head back and my eyes tightly closed, I sit still as Perry continuously pours water over my head, getting all the shampoo out. “You need to condition it too,” I tell him.
I can tell he’s checking out the various bottles before finding the matching conditioner. “So demanding, wife.”
“I think you like it.”
“I like everything about you.”
The promise in his voice almost convinces me he’s telling the truth. Why do I find it so hard to accept compliments? To believe that someone could actually care for me for who I am? Seamus did a number on me.
My father did too. Even my mother.
I am a product of my environment, and in my environment growing up, I was neglected. For too long, I’ve let that define me. Being with Perry—marrying him—has changed that. I no longer want to be known as the pathetic little rich girl who stays holed up in her bedroom day and night, scared to live her life.
Life is meant to be lived. Perry has shown me that. Even Seamus has too, not that I would admit that particular fact to my husband. Fighting for my life and taking risks is not something I would’ve ever imagined happening to me.
I’ve done both in the short span of a few hours. Now that I’m home and safe, naked in a bathtub with my husband, I feel…
Alive.
Energized.
