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“I’ll make myself so heavy you can’t pick me up unless you tell me one fact about you.”
His expression is blank. “My name is Jameson.”
“One I don’t already know, or I’ll lay here until I’m dead.”
Jameson blinks, his eyes darting away for a heartbeat. “Get in the tub first.”
“God.Fine.”
He picks me up in his arms and lowers me carefully into hot water.
“I’m turning it back on.” Jameson flips the handle. “Come over here.”
“We had a deal, kidnapper.”
“You’ve got mud all over you, demon girl. Let me rinse it off so you can have a real goddamn bath.”
I can’t bring myself to argue with that. I slide over to the faucet and let it rinse the mud away. Jameson scoops water with his hands, letting it run over my shoulders.
“Now this way.”
I lean back into his hand, and he supports my head so he can rinse my hair in the faucet. His fingers are gentle and capable, working through the knots. When he’s done, he helps me back to the other side of the tub and puts a folded towel behind my back. The tub fills until the hot water is up to my chest, and he turns it off again.
“Who were you talking to on the phone the first night? Was it your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have more than one sibling?” Jameson is silent. He squeezes shampoo into one hand, but when he reaches for my hair, I grab his wrist. “That doesn’t count as your one piece of information.”
His eyes are wary, a little vulnerable, and the sensation of power comes over me again. It doesn’t matter that I couldn’t escape. Doesn’t matter that I’m right back where I started.
“Talkto me. You said you were losing your mind when I was gone. Was that some lie to convince me to come back in?”
“I didn’t have to convince you.”
“Ugh.Right,Jameson. Because I fell, and that was all my fault, obviously.”
He cups his hands to keep the shampoo from spilling. “You wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t run.”
“And I wouldn’t haverunif you didn’tkidnapme! What is wrong with you? Are you mortally afraid of conversations? You’re the one who saidlet me be good to you for one fucking second.If you want to be good to me so much, then the least you could do is talk to me while you wash my hair.”
“Isn’t washing your hair—”
“Jameson.Comeon.”
“I have three siblings,” he snaps. “Two older brothers and a younger sister.”
“That’s—” That is a real, honest-to-jury duty fact about him. “That’s more than I thought.”
He narrows his eyes, shakes my hand off, and moves his hand determinedly to my hair. I turn away in a huff.
“Thanks,” he says.
I’ve made it easier for him. Jameson’s not tentative at all about the shampoo business. He lathers and rinses and squeezes the excess water from my hair.
Then he picks up a washcloth, wets it, and adds body wash.
He holds it out to me with an expression I recognize.
