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I hover at the bathroom’s threshold, watching steam billow from above the glass door of the shower. Mac faces the wall, her hands braced on the tile, and even from here, I can tell her spine is infused with tension.
The clear glass does nothing to conceal her back. From one side to the other, top to bottom, her entire back is marred with slashes of scars, white and upraised.
I’d felt them when I’d held her but hadn’t asked. She’d already stepped out of her comfort zone by letting me see the span of her tattooed flesh.
Removing my gun from my waistband, I set it on the vanity and shove my jeans off. When I open the shower door, I swear to Christ her back stiffens even more. Once inside, I let my eyes travel over her body, now rinsed clean of blood.
A slightly off-kilter border travels down her body, colorful tattooed flesh contrasting with un-inked skin. Her hair is matted to her head, still discolored, so I grab the shampoo bottle and pour some into my palm. I lather it before sinking my hands into her hair.
Her spine goes rigid a second before she relaxes into my touch. I work the shampoo through her hair, massaging her scalp, watching as soapy drips tinged with red drop to our feet and wash down the drain.
“Lean back for me.” My voice is gentle, coaxing. She tilts her head back, closing her eyes, and I guide her so her hair is under the spray.
Once her hair is rinsed free of shampoo, I step closer, one hand moving to the center of her chest to urge her to lean back on me. Staring down over her shoulder at the contrast, my eyes are transfixed by the sight of my darker skin against her paler flesh.
I don’t realize the breath I’m holding until, a moment later, she leans back against me and it comes rushing out. But it’s not just that. It’s that she’s letting me take some of the weight, the heaviness she’s facing.
“It’s okay.” I speak against her temple, planting a soft kiss there. “I’ve got you.”
My words must trigger something, because she stiffens in my arms. Her voice sounds small and nothing like the ballbuster of a woman I’ve come to know. “You’re heading back home at some point.” There’s a minuscule pause. “It’s best that I remember that.”
She’s not wrong, but even so, it pisses me off that she’s shutting me out. I have no right to demand she lean on me when there’s no guarantee I’ll be around.
I’ve got to track down Emilia’s murderer, and every second I put that off, every second I let myself get distracted here with Mac adds to my failure at delivering vengeance in my sister’s name.
Smoothly, she disentangles herself from my hold, and I drop my arm to my side. She turns to face me, water spilling down her face and body.
Now washed clean, one cheek bears a nasty-looking scratch and her top lip looks raw where it’s split near the corner. Her left brow bone is discolored and her silver hair, now soaked through, appears a dark gray.
Even battered like this, she’s still gorgeous as fuck. I’ll miss her like hell when I leave this place behind.
I don’t bother to entertain the idea that once I lay everything with Emilia to rest, I’d pursue Mac. Her life is embedded here, and she’s never once given me any indication she’d consider moving.
Hell, she’s never indicated she’s interested in me for more than just an available fuck, and here I am getting all poetic when it’s one-sided.
Vulnerability stains her features as she peers up at me, her voice a soft murmur. “I need you.”
She’s asking for an escape from the shit that’s threatening to drown her.
Murky emotions tangle themselves in a knotted fucking mess inside me. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
A softness edges into her expression. “You won’t. I’m…” She drops her gaze to focus on my medal. “I’m okay physically.”
“Your face begs to differ.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and a hint of that familiar defiance gleams in the depths, mingling with the barest trace of playfulness. “You’re really going to deny me mediocre sex?”
Christ Almighty. This woman… I’m not sure I could deny her anything. Somewhere along the way, this mysterious spitfire of a woman became my weakness.
Taking her hand, I mold her fingers over my already hardening cock. My mouth lowers to hers, and our lips brush gently with each of my words. “This what you need?”
I capture her bottom lip between my teeth and revel in the way she lets out a tiny moan. With me guiding her hand, we move in thorough strokes from root to tip. “You need this, right here? Is that it?”
Eyes hazy with lust, she hisses out a panted, “Yeah.”
I urge her thumb to graze over the head of my cock, smoothing the fluid gathering there, and her nipples tighten. “You want me to help you forget? Need my cock as an escape?”
A whisper of a moan falls from her mouth. “God, yes.”
