Page 82 of The Fox

“Medina is dead. I don’t know how he was shot, but he’s done. It’s over.”

I turn us, bracing her between my body and the wall. I snake one hand from under her and brush the hair from her face. “I know.” There is a moment of confusion and then realization dawns on her face. “I was watching you.”

“You had my back,” she says gently.

Nodding, I cup her jaw. “Always, Amelia.”

“Can we go home now?” Her voice is small, and I see her armor starting to fall. Adjusting my grip on her body, I walk us back to her car, setting her in the passenger seat before buckling her in. She murmurs in protest but allows it. My truck is tucked in the grove of trees, and it’ll stay there until Amelia is settled back home.

“Let’s go home, baby.” I slide into the driver seat, pushing it all the way back. As I adjust the rearview mirror, I see her fall asleep, the adrenaline leaving her body.

CHAPTER 59

Rhodes---Bubbles

There is something to be said about a woman and a bathtub.

I finish trimming my beard, ensuring none of the clippings are left on the vanity, and raise my eyes to the slice of heaven behind me. She doesn’t know I’m watching her through the mirrored glass. Amelia is blissfully soaking in the claw-foot tub, currently filled to the brim with citrus scented oils, only a scattering of bubbles remaining. I can’t see much of her body, but I trace the line of her collarbone, memorizing the way it blends into strong shoulders that carry far too much. I run my eyes along the nape of her neck, watching as it meets that spot just below her ear—the one that makes her mewl every time I nip at it.

Her eyes are closed, and I hear the gentle easiness of her breathing, the way her body is no longer at war with itself. I walk quietly across the room, hoping I don’t disturb her, before squatting down and resting my forearms on the tub. I want her to have this bit of peace.

“What do you want?” She is barely loud enough for me to hear, the words more like a purr falling into the space.

“Nothing.” I smirk. There are many things I want when it comes to Amelia Conte, but right now, I’ll settle for seeing her like this, in this moment, just us two.

I return to the vanity, grab the small stool placed under it, and then sit beside her. Reaching for her claw clip holding her waves off her skin, I remove it, running my hands across her scalp. She carries her tension in several places, her head and neck being one of them. I increase the pressure, and a sigh escapes those plush lips. Grinning, I run my hands down the base of her skull, moving toward her shoulders. I keep my movements firm, intentional, soothing. Amelia moans, the slightest smile ghosting her face. My lips follow the path of my hands, leaving gentle kisses in their wake. I linger at her pulse point before making my way back up her neck.

“Ro,” Amelia breathes, shifting slightly in the bathwater. “What are you doing?”

I move my hands from where they are tangled in her hair and grab the brush sitting beside the tub. “I’m going to take care of you. You are going to keep soaking.”

I begin brushing her hair, starting at the ends, knowing that she usually has to fight a tangle or two along the way. Keeping my movements slow and steady, I softly brush her strands and start humming a song my mom used to sing to me when I was little. I’ve not let it see the light of day in years, but somehow, this feels like the perfect moment.

I snag a tangle, Amelia’s body tightening and then relaxing.

“Sorry, baby.”

She settles back against the tub, her hair now fully draped over my lap. I place one hand on her jaw, cupping it and grounding her in this moment, while my other hand continues to brush out the remaining parts of her hair. I glance down at her, smiling at how soft she is, how pliant her body is right now. This is the Amelia Conte the world doesn’t get to see. This is the Amelia Conte I love the most.

“What’s that you’re humming?” she whispers, almost as if she doesn’t want the moment to end. It’s been a few days since word spread that Medina had been killed and the fallout wasn’t handled well by his Outfit. Amelia washed her hands of it, the lightness in her eyes now a permanent fixture.

“It’s an old Bryan Adams song. I’d catch my parents dancing to it. There were times the only way I could fall asleep was for her to hum it for me.”

“I love that, Ro. I wish I could have met them.”

Me too, Amelia. Me too.

“So,” I say, changing the conversation. “What is your plan for today? Maybe the farmer’s market? Bake a few loaves of sourdough?”

Amelia smiles, leaning further into my palm. “I think so. Parker mentioned there might be a live band this weekend. That could be fun.” She shifts, the now tepid water coating her breasts, and I see her body beneath the ripples. “Perhaps a redo of that picnic?” I smile at the memory, and the way things tend to work themselves out.

I place a small kiss on her head as I run my hands down Amelia’s chest. The movement is slow. Intentional. “What do you think of heading to the lake soon? Spend a few days on the water, just the two of us.”

“Can we bring Lennon? You said there is a large bay window he’d claim as his.”

I circle her dusky nipples with the very tips of my fingers. Amelia arches, thrusting them out of the water. I pluck one, watching as the contrasting cool air makes them harden under my touch. “On one condition,” I say as I tease the leader of the Underworld, leaning down to whisper against her ear.

“We stay naked the entire time we’re there.”

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