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We're going to have to move into the mansion until our house is built because we need a bathtub. Right now my sweet girl needs to soak and she can't.
Doing the next best thing, I bathe her with soapy hands. No wash cloth or loofah to abrade her delicate skin.
When I go to wash her backdoor, she balks. "What are you doing?"
"Washing you. What does it feel like?"
"Uh, that, but I can wash myself."
"You are mine to care for,ílios mou."
She relaxes her tightly clamped thighs. "Okay."
"That's becoming my new favorite word," I tease her.
Smiling, she washes what she can reach of my body with soapy hands. We cherish each other in the shower until the water cools.
I pull her out and gently dry her body before rubbing a towel vigorously over my own.
She wraps her arms around me and lays her forehead against my chest. "Thank you."
This woman. "The pleasure is mine."
"It was both our pleasure, but it was more than that."
"Yes, it was." And I'm glad she acknowledges that.
Chapter 45
LUCIA
Atlas's phone rings in the bedroom and he ignores it as our souls connect in the silence between us, the steamy bathroom our refuge from the world.
The ringing stops, only to start all over again a few seconds later. Then my phone starts up.
I lift my head. "We should probably answer. I don't think they're going to stop calling otherwise."
His jaw taut, like he wants to say something, he nods and steps away.
I follow him into the bedroom. Atlas grabs his phone. "What?" he barks.
He listens, his body going rigid, an emotionless mask dropping on his face as he carries on a conversation in rapid fire Greek.
He hangs up and starts yanking on clothes. "Get dressed, we have to go."
Urgency laces his voice and I don't hesitate to tug on fresh underwear and then my legging. I don't bother with a bra but grab a t-shirt to pull over my bare breasts. Even with the sense of urgency surrounding us, my sensitized buds zing with pleasure at contact with the soft cotton.
I yank one of Atlas's hoodies on and zip it up halfway. It smells like him and helps the tension in my body ease. While I put on my socks and boots, Atlas slides his arm through his shoulder holster and adjusts the gun.
After grabbing a brush and a scrunchie, I swipe my phone from the table and grab my purse. "Ready."
"Is your pistol still in there?" Atlas takes my hand and pulls me after him.
"Yes."
"Good." Tugging me into the kitchen area, he grabs a gun and extra ammunition from the top of one of my cupboards.
When had he put that there? I don't ask.
