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“Not the same thing.” I allow my eyes to scan her long back and cinched waist.No tattoos. No scars.Nothing but silky skin and an olive complexion. “I do what I do to protect my family.”
“You do what you do to protect your assets.” She pushes away from the wall and spins to face me. Her eyes demand my attention, but my gaze drops to a patch of rough skin near her ribs that I didn’t notice when pushing her shirt off.
Curious, I step away from the counter and cross the room with a frown. “What’s that?”
Confused, she shoots a look down, then back up again with a fresh bout of rage. “My private, personal body. Which is not up for discussion with the likes of you.”
“It looks like a rash,” I murmur, completely and totally taken with the one and only imperfection on an otherwise flawless woman’s body. “A bit like acne, but a bit like?—”
“It’s a highly contagious skin condition that leads to necrosis,” she sneers, waiting for my eyes to come up again. “You probably need to go to the hospital now.”
“Nah.” I risk my face when I come closer, crouching to get a better look at what I can only describe as acne scars… but also eczema, but also bruising, but also welts that are a little like mine, and all of that concentrated on one small patch of her skin about six inches long, and three inches wide.
“What the hell is that, Christabelle?” Then I look up and meet her eyes. “Do you need medical attention? Medication?”
“Why? Afraid I’ll die before you get to kill me?” She swings out, much like she did this morning, but instead of aiming for my face, shesmacks the shower off and stops the warm spray from covering the room with thick humidity. “Now that you’ve destroyed my clothes and wet my underwear, what do you suggest I wear to this dinner I would not like to join you at?”
Grinning, because whether she likes it or not, she’s already softening toward me, I straighten and consider her snarky but reasonable question.
What to give her to wear?
With a smirk, I offer, “I have a box of forgotten underwear in my closet, if you wanna rifle around in there.” Then I turn to the counter and pick up a fresh black towel, only to twist back and find Christabelle’s face screwed in revulsion.
I blink. “What?”
“I willnotbe selecting underwear from your box of STD-filled mysteries.” She actually gags, snatching the towel from my hands and wrapping it around her body while her chest jumps and heaves with disgust. “God. Why would you keep other people’s underwear?”
“Waste is ugly.”
The moment she turns and leaves the bathroom, I follow her out and watch as she stops in the middle of my bedroom, completely unsure of what her next move should be.
“Problem?”
“You have me at a slight disadvantage.” She glares my way. “I mean in addition to the kidnapping and drugging and whatnot.”
“Well, of course,” I allow with a smile. “In addition to those.”
“Now I’m all but naked. Soaking wet.” She attempts to cinch her towel in between her breasts, but the scrape of her cuffs against her wrists makes her hiss. And when I look closer, I find her skin red, raw and sore. “I don’t have shoes. Or clothes. My hair is going to frizz—which doesn’t sound like a huge deal, considering,” she gestures around the room, “everything elsehappening in my life, but I have a sensory issue, so it’s going to send me insane.”
“Then I’ll get you some clothes.” I move into my closet, all too aware that she could bolt and leap straight over my balcony in the time I’m gone.
Not something I think she’s dumb enough to do.
But desperate enough?
Maybe.
I grab a shirt and give it a sniff, just to make sure it’s clean, then I head back into my room, only to find her on the balcony.
My heart lurches in fear, but my common sense calms it down again when I realize she’s merely looking. Staring up at the stars.
“Here.” I come up behind her, startling her when my chest touches her back, and my breath moves tendrils of hair on her shoulder.
I open the neck-hole and plop the fabric over her head before she can fight me, then I grab her hip and turn her around, only to be reminded of the cuffs she wears.
I could undo them…and risk bodily damage and an escape attempt. Or I could leave her bound, my shirt becoming a weird muumuu, and her ability to eat, completely hampered.
Her need to eat exceeds any apprehension I have about her actions once liberated. I can take care of myself.
