Page 78 of Past Due

Chapter Nineteen

Still wary, I sank down a little lower in the water and watched Besian unfasten his cufflinks. He set them on the bathroom counter and methodically rolled his shirtsleeves to just below his elbows, revealing inch after inch of tattooed skin. He removed his watch and placed it next to his cufflinks before reaching for a hand towel, a wash cloth and the waste bin.

Without a word, he knelt down next to the tub and gently reached in to grasp my right ankle. His clinical, efficient touch left me feeling empty and cold, and I desperately wanted him to touch me the way he had only last night. Lovingly. Tenderly. Possessively.

“I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt,” he said before carefully pulling the soaked sock away from my foot. I hissed, and he winced with sympathy before lowering my foot back into the warm water. He tossed the ruined sock into the trash and repeated the process on my other foot. “Let them soak a little longer.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to talk just yet. I feared I would start begging him to hold me, to love me. I hadn’t quite decided if I was still angry at him, and I wasn’t ready to forgive him either. He had fucked up majorly, but I suspected there was some terrible secret in his past that made him act the way he had. I wanted him to explain himself, to help me understand why he jumped to the worst possible assumption without first trusting in my love for him.

But not yet.

Still kneeling next to the tub, he asked, “May I wash your hair?”

The question surprised me. No one had washed my hair since I was a very young child. Craving his touch, I nodded and softly said, “Yes.”

He seemed relieved by my acceptance of his offer. “Do you want me to get your shampoo and conditioner?”

I shook my head. “Whatever is in that basket is fine.”

He picked out the travel-sized bottles he needed. While he opened one of them, I slid down even deeper into the tub, letting the water cover my face for a few moments to thoroughly wet my hair. When I sat up and wiped my eyes with my uninjured hand, he moved closer and cautiously approached me.

Did he expect me to react like a wounded dog? To strike out and bite at him?

I closed my eyes and focused on the sensation of his fingers gliding through my hair and lathering the shampoo. The scent of citrus and tea tree oil filled the air. As Besian massaged my scalp, the tension in my shoulders and neck began to melt away, and I relaxed against the tub.

“Ready to rinse?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” I slipped down in the water again, this time only covering my ears. Besian carefully agitated my hair under the water, loosening the foamy cleanser clinging to the strands. Eventually, he nodded, and I sat up again. He smoothed conditioner into my hair and left it to soak in for a while.

“May I wash you?” His dark eyes glimmered with hope.

“Yes.” I wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on me again. When he reached for the cloth, I spoke up. “No. Use your hands.”

He swallowed hard and did as I asked, lathering the small bar of soap between his palms. I swept my hair over my shoulder and sat forward, drawing my knees toward my chest. He started with my back, sliding his foamy hands over my skin. He gently massaged my shoulders and neck, his touch no longer clinical and detached. I leaned into his hands, silently urging him to keep going.

“How many stitches?” he asked, his voice still quiet as his hands glided along my arms.

“Seven,” I answered, holding my injured hand out of the water. “I got lucky. It wasn’t very deep.”

He made a strangled sound as his lathered his hands again. “I wouldn’t call anything that happened last night lucky.”

“Some of it was,” I murmured, thinking about how close Stefana had come to being raped. “Do you know what happened to Stefana? After I left?”

“I don’t.” He carefully washed my neck before his hand moved down my chest. Our gazes clashed as he neared my breasts, and he stopped, seemingly uncertain whether he could still touch me there. Holding his unsure stare, I clasped his wrist with my good hand and moved it closer to my breast. He exhaled a shuddery breath and gently palmed my breast.

Letting go of his hand so he could finish the job, I asked, “What happened to the man I stabbed?”

“Do you really want to know?”

I glanced at his face. His look told me everything. Not wanting to hear him say the words, I shook my head. “No, I guess not.”

“Apparently, Stefana wasn’t the first woman he hurt,” Besian explained. “He has a history of beating and raping women. His father is a politician so...” He frowned. “Having a wealthy, connected parent works everywhere.”

“Unfortunately,” I agreed, hating that it was true.

“He won’t hurt anyone ever again,” Besian remarked pragmatically. “He’d need two hands for that.”

My gaze flicked to his face, and I saw the brief micro-smile there. He clearly approved of the justice that had been meted out by Stefana’s family. “What about the guard? When I left the hospital, he was having surgery.”

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