Page 25 of Rami

He reached for the tap and jerked it on then flicked on the spray. “Don’t do that either. You have every right to feel sorry for yourself, but you, Ivy”—he leaned in and framed her face with his hands—“you need to be proud of the woman who’s still here. I sure as fuck am.”

Sincerity hung in his voice, and his eyes burrowed into hers with searing ferocity. All the wind left her lungs, and she fought the urge to melt into his warm flesh.

“Got it?”

She nodded.

“Good. Now let’s get you washed up.” He caught the hem of her shirt and paused. “I’m not going to touch you unless you need help. I’ll stand behind you so you don’t fall, and I won’t look. Okay?”

Like a bobblehead on steroids, she nodded again. He pulled off the material and the cool air hit her skin.

She glanced down at her bra—thank god it was black and wouldn’t show the dirt and stains. Nothing could be done about the smell, but if Rami was put off, he didn’t show it. As his fingers went to the snaps on her shorts, his knuckles grazed her belly. “Can you get these off?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He dropped his hands and glanced away as she pushed her shorts down her legs. She wobbled and he caught her biceps, steadying her while she kicked off the denim.

He stuck his hand under the water. “It’s ready. Just stay in your bra and underwear. You can take them off in a second.”

He grabbed her waist and lifted her to stand in the tub as if she weighed nothing, and then he stepped in behind her. Her back hovered inches from his front. The warm spray hit her chest.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I can’t see.”

Her knees trembled as she dragged the straps of her bra down her arms.

“Want me to get the hook?”

“Yes.” She probably couldn’t wrench her arm behind her. His fingers went to the center of her back, freeing her from the elastic band that’d confined her for two weeks. Her skin tingled as the water ran over the area.

She grabbed her soaking-wet bikini-cut underwear—also black because apparently God had wanted to save her from that mortification—and wiggled them down her legs. She tossed the bra and underwear onto the floor. If there were a fire nearby, she’d gladly have incinerated the filthy undergarments.

If she hadn’t been so violated and without privacy for so long, she might have been humiliated by standing naked inches from a hot dude in his briefs. Under the shower no less.

He kept his promise and didn’t touch her. Since she didn’t have eyes in the back of her head, she couldn’t be sure he hadn’t snuck a peak. But given how close his tall body was, it’d be hard for him to see much besides her shoulders and maybe the tops of her breasts.

“Better?” he asked, his husky voice clipped.

“Yeah.” And god was it ever. She held out her hands and let the water collect in her palms—the most glorious sensation. She moved toward the spray, away from his body a little, not caring that the space would allow him to see her ass if he tried. She needed the purification of the warm water more than she cared about modesty.

Not to mention he surely wouldn’t find her attractive. Sixteen days ago, maybe.

The water pelted her face and rolled down her cheeks. Tears leaked out of her eyes, mingling with the spray. She’d never dreamed she’d get to have a shower again. During her confinement, the only things she’d craved were water and her family, but washing her body clean of what she’d endured was now paramount.

Maybe she’d take the almost-naked stranger’s advice and be proud of the woman who’d survived.

Because she’d never be the same Ivy again.

CHAPTER 8

Eyes on the fucking wall, idiot.

All right, so Rami wasn’t as noble as he’d liked to think. It was impossible to have sexual thoughts right now, knowing what Ivy had endured. His head knew that. Nevertheless, his dick didn’t get the memo because a naked woman stood inches away.

He waited while she absorbed what seemed to be every drop from the showerhead, holding her hands out as if it were giving life. Although he kept his eyes north like he’d promised, he couldn’t unsee the three large bruises and numerous little ones that colored her skin. Someone had dug their fingers into her shoulder.

Bastards.

The sight made him really fucking glad he’d brought that grenade. “You okay?” he asked.

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