Page 18 of Into the Woods

I wrap my fingers around the cup of whiskey, the plastic bending and popping under the pressure of my grip.

How is it that I’ve jumped out of one fiery hell and straight into another? All my hard work, all the money I’ve saved, the plans I’ve made—for what? It’s all been for nothing because I don’t think there is any way out of this mess.

“Shall I draw you a hot bath, miss? A soak might do you well before you retire. Wash away the day and set all your wrongs to right.” With a gentle prod, he nudges the cup to my mouth,tsking again and murmuring about blasphemy. “A sip and a bite of something, miss.”

I’m not thirsty, certainly not hungry, but I can either fall apart in front of a complete stranger or I can cowgirl up andfigure out what comes next. Since it’s a fact that I do my best thinking while marinating in steamy water, I do what he asks. I pick at the plate, tasting nothing as I chew and swallow.

“A bath sounds good.”

“Very good, miss.”

With a perfectly executed bow, Garrick ducks into the ensuite. Several minutes later, he returns, announcing, “Your bath is ready. I’ve taken the liberty of adding salts to the water—lavender and honey, for the lady.” I swear he holds his breath until I nod my agreement. Then he continues, “Towels are in the warmer, and I’ve hung a robe by your dressing table. If there’s nothing else?”

The lady. Your dressing table.

At a loss for words, I shake my head and set the still-full plate on the coffee table.

He says, “Very well, then,” as if everything is indeed very well.

Spoiler Alert: it’s not.

Nothing is well. It’s not good, not even okay. But the minute the door closes, and the lock clicks into place, I rise to my feet, grabbing the plastic cup of whiskey from the serving tray, and shuffle toward the bathroom.

Steam swirls above the copper soaking tub, the heavy scent of lavender filling the air.

I quickly disrobe, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor. I would happily burn that black dress just to ensure that I never have to see it again, but it’s the only thing I actually own here.

The water is perfect with the temperature straddling the line between too hot and just right. It takes a minute of easing each body part in, retreating, and trying again until I sink down and let the hot water suck the tension from my muscles. My skin turns pink where it’s submerged, my cheeks, I’m sure, going rosy as they glisten with a sheen of sweat.

It feels glorious.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply allowing my head to rest on the raised lip of the basin. What am I going to do? How the hell am I going to get out of this?

I know my crush on Christophe was just that—puppy love. After he left and years later after I’d made peace with what I thought was a wildly broken heart, I figured I’d never see him again. That he was gone from my life and that was okay, right? I was achildand Christophe wasn’t much younger than I am now.

But he’s back.

And all grown up.

Sweet and caring no more, now Christophe is a freaking enigma.

Whether that’s a good thing or not, I have no idea, but he sure is pretty to look at.

Pfft. A man like that isn’t pretty.

Powerful.

Masculine.

Virile.

Fuck-hot is the most accurate term I can think of.

I envy his obviously custom-tailored shirt for how much contact it has with him. The solid mass of muscle when he pressed up against me, the way he moved me, commanding my body, was like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Of course I’ve never experienced that. Because of where I grew up, and how, I shut myself away. I kept my circle small. But that doesn’t mean I’m not affected.

With the hard planes of his muscle-packed body front and center in my mind, I let my hand drift down beneath the steaming water to my center.

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