Page 35 of Prometheus' Priestess

Instead of backing down as he expected, she tipped her chin back in defiance. He noted the change immediately. The squaring of the shoulders. The locked jaw. The sharp gaze that was laced with desire and something ... more. If he focused for too long on her eyes or her full mouth, his jeans were going to become uncomfortably tight ... again.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” he muttered. This was in no way a discussion he was prepared to have with her right now.

He filled the free-standing bath three-quarters of the way full and sprinkled an assortment of essential oils that made the bathroom smell of roses and honey. He also added a luxuriant bubble-bath mix, the light catching on the bubbles and making them sparkle from blue to pink between one second and the next.

“You know how to draw a bath,” Amara remarked, leaning against the door jamb in the white linen robe she’d put on while he’d been busy. He could tell she was faking nonchalance but if it would get her to behave while his self-control was teetering, he’d takeit.

“Hippocrates said that the key to health was an aromatic bath and a scented massage everyday.”

“Sounds like a man who knew his way into a woman’s heart.”

Prometheus chuckled. “And yet, he made those remarks for anotherman.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He tested the temperature with his elbow. “Come now. The water isperfect.”

Walking over to him, she tested it with her hand, stood, and felt a shiver run through her body. Disrobing with her back to him − a quick hiccup of his heart − then and there, she sunk into the water until she was fully submerged. Only then did she look at him.

He was standing stock still, the muscles under his shirt he’d stripped down to strained, his jaw a harsh line. He was, very determinedly, looking Amara in the eyes.

“Yes?” she asked coyly.

“You should wait until a man leaves,” he grounded out through clenched teeth.

A pregnant pause rested between them. But when Amara went to open her mouth, Prometheus stepped out of the bathroom.

When the bath water ran cold, and she’d perused and applied all the toiletries she could, Amara began to feel sheepish.It had been a moment of insanity, she told herself. That’s how she’d justify it to him if he asked. Except it hadn’t been that. It had been a need to prove to him that she wasn’t just a broken butterfly, the maiden in distress he’d originally met. She wasn’t the traumatised young woman he’d found in that exhibition. Ok, she was still healing but ... she’d been in shock then because she thought she’d seen Ralph again. Now, she knew it was just that − shock. She was perfectly capable of holding her own against a man … against him. She had been for the past fewweeks.

Wrapping the robe tightly around her, and leaving her hair damp around her shoulders, Amara tentatively opened the bathroom door. The cooler air, without the steam of the bathroom, slapped her in the face. It seemed to clear her head a little.

As she stepped out, she saw Theo spread out on the bed reading a book. His shirt had skewed slightly, revealing a thin sliver of bronzed abdomen and dark curls that had Amara’s eyes wandering and mouth watering. A sensation she had always found acutely uncomfortable.

“Good bath?” He eyed her, sceptically she thought, from above the book.

“Yes, thank you.” She shuffled over and plonked herself down on her side of the bed. The movement caused her robe to slip slightly, revealing a glimpse of smooth torso and barebreast.

He stared inturn.

She watched him watching her as she brought her hand up to where the robe slipped. When she let a small smile slip, as she chose to tease him some more by tantalizingly stroking at her skin ever so softly with her fingertips, he captured her wrist in his hand.

Amara froze.

Prometheus realised he had just done something disastrously wrong. Immediately he released his hold on her wrist but it was too late. The eyes that had been staring at him full and sensuous with desire a minute ago were now wild. Amara’s muscles were rigid in a way that once again screamedget the fuck away from me.Her breathing was shallow − that damn robe was not helping him − and she watched him like prey watches a predator before itattacks.

“Amara, sweetheart, I need you to take deeper breasts, breaths. Dammit. Can you do that forme?”

No response from the woman across from him. He slid off the bed, making sure to keep his eyes on her as he walked backwards to the minibar to get her some fresh, cool water. When he returned, she had her eyes closed, the robe tugged firmly over her now as she crossed her arms, but she was breathing deeply.

“Here, drinkthis.”

Eyes so pure and filled with so much hurt and pain, blinked open and stared at him. He got onto his knees at the side of the bed and gently reached out to stroke her hair. She didn’t flinch. He understood immediately that it must have been something to do with her wrist. He looked down at said wrist to see her nervously wringing it. When his eyes met hers again, he saw the fear that flickered behind them. Still, she continued to breathe deeply and he continued to stroke her hair.

“You’re not ready yet,” he told her gently. It killed him to say it. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and banish that insidious fear from her bones. He wanted to growl at any demons that came her way and keep her safe.

“You think I’m a child. You’re babying me,” sheaccused.

“No, I think you’re traumatised,” hereasoned.

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