Page 33 of Queen of Ruin

“I can help,” I answer immediately. “Are you sure you want me to, though?”

Valentina rolls her eyes and tightens her hand in mine. “I think we’re past shyness.”

Bracing my arm for her balance, I stand and help Valentina to her feet. It’s easy to get her into the bathroom but when she starts taking her clothes off, I don’t know where to look. This is so different to when I patched her up the first night. Back then, I was so concerned with the chance of her dying that nothing else mattered, and I kept her underwear on to save her some dignity.

Here, in this bathroom, she doesn’t seem to care. She sheds my shirt and jeans with ease, mostly keeping one arm on me for balance, and each time she sways, I’m there to catch her. Valentina then removes her bra and panties without any hesitation, and then she faces me with a tired smile.

“Don’t let me fall?”

I can’t speak. I can barely breathe. She stands before me, completely naked, and it’s a hard fight keeping my gaze level with hers when every inch of her stands naked in my peripheral. She’s toned and beautiful, a beauty that isn’t clouded by her healing bruises, pink wounds, my bad stitching, or any other marks or scars that cover her.

Her body tells a story we won’t know the answer to until she gets those precious memories back.

“You won’t fall,” I assure her, taking her hand. “I promise.”

13

VALENTINA

Maybe I should be shy, but I’m just too tired and too overwhelmed with everything else to care about Diego seeing me naked. Hot pain radiates in waves from my wound and with no painkillers or even alcohol to help numb the pain, I need another distraction.

Diego is the best distraction.

Diego and a hot shower that pours over me like a blissful wave. Every droplet lands against my skin with enough force to aggravate a bruise or a healing wound, but it’s an oddly pleasant sensation. Like a reminder that I’m still alive and pieces of my life are ever so slowly coming together.

“Do you mind?” Diego’s low voice rises from behind me, and I spare him one glance. He stands there, completely naked in the shower with me, and both hands hover a few inches away from my shoulders.

“Please,” I murmur. “I don’t want to lift my arm too high and rip open your hard work.”

“I’d be devastated,” comes his quiet reply.

Then his hands land on my shoulders.

They’re rough, callused from all the work he does and the life he’s lived, but the sensation of that roughness dragging slowly over my shoulders while his fingers dig gently into my muscles is enough to turn me to butter. A weak sensation sweeps south, landing in my knees and making them knock together, so I reach for the wall for balance. It’s all I can do to stay upright while Diego takes over washing me.

“Your back looks good,” he says softly as he works. A cap clicks and his hand vanishes, then returns with something cold against my skin. I flinch sharply but within a few seconds, the gel warms against my skin and lathers up quickly under his touch. “Everything here looks like it’s healing well. Y’know, because I’m a doctor and I completely know what I’m talking about.”

“I trust you,” comes my soft reply as my vision twinges in and out of focus. “Do they look bad?”

“Depends on your benchmark.” His hands glide down my back to my waist, leaving a trail of hot tingles in their wake. “If they were on me, I’d say they were pretty fucking bad. But given the scars you have and your head wound, I’d say they’re pretty on par. Your head is like… the worst, and these are sort of middle to low.”

“Middle to low,” I repeat lazily, more focused on his hands than anything else.

They reach my lower back and his thumbs press in, moving in slow, tantalizing circles, then they sweep back up with his thumbs staying close to my spine. Each press is bliss, each stroke and caress a warm, welcoming sensation that I cling to over everything else. Sometimes, he’s close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes against my shoulder, and I want to sink back into his hold.

Diego’s hands sweep south once more to my lower back and over the crest of my ass. He’s tender in his touch, massaging in the lather then sweeping his hands slowly back up. A shiver shoots through me as tension seeps from my aching muscles.

“You’re good at this.”

“Washing?”

“Caring for someone. Have you done this before?”

“Not… exactly. Feels weird to talk about her when we’re like this, but Mindy, the woman who came to my apartment? She’s… she’s an addict. There was a point in time when she was trying to get clean and I did what I could to help her through the aches and pains. Step back for me?” His hands settle on my waist, and he guides me backward as soon as I step into him.

Hot water pours down my back, washing the soap away and sending it trickling down my legs.

“Okay, turn around.”