Page 23 of Dark Shadow of Guilt

Dom rummaged through drawers. “Mora will wait.” Her winged savior whisked out a washcloth. Turning on the sink faucets, he wet it. While she stared at him, he cradled one of her heels in a palm, patting the dirty, bleeding sole until it was clean. When he blew on the cuts, she watched them knit together.

Madeline grabbed a foot, twisting it up to have a look-see, her irrational green-eyed monster forgetting about Mora. “Amazing.”

Dom dried off her feet and then grabbed her waist to help her stand.

Prying her gaze off the powerful assassin with the god-like body of ripped muscles not even a t-shirt could hide, she took in his lavish bathroom. A giant tub and an open shower with multiple shower heads on the ceiling and sides. “Nice.” A sumptuous modern spa.

When she spun toward the mirror, Madeline gasped. Still clutching her torn blouse, she combed the fingers of her free hand through her hair, getting them stuck in the snarls. She tried to wipe dirt off her cheek. Not happening. “What a mess! I need to clean up.”

“I’ll have clothes waiting for you.”

“You keep a supply of women’s clothing around your house?”

He drew his brows down as if her question was absurd. “No.”

When no other information was forthcoming, Madeline shrugged and asked, “A towel?”

Her rescuer pointed to a cabinet in the corner.

With two towels in hand, Madeline heated under Dom’s intense stare. Recovering, she bobbed her head toward the door.

He continued to thoroughly assess her body until he caught on to her gesture. “Oh. I need to leave.”

“Uh-huh. Tend to your company instead of ogling me.”

“I was sizing you up for a t-shirt and warm sweatpants.”

“That’s comforting because I don’t want what Ms. My-bustier’s-too-snug is wearing. You better get out there to her. She probably charges by the hour.”

Dom’s chin dropped to his chest, but when he lifted his head, he shot her a grin as if he knew she was neon-green with envy. He ambled toward the bathroom door, leaving her alone.

Maddy’s heart thumped against her ribs as she surveyed his firm retreating ass. He was over six-and-a-half feet of toned muscle with biceps and shoulders that threatened to rip his tee. Ebony hair trailed to his mid-back. And goddam wings. Beautiful black wings. Not bat ones. His front wasn’t bad, either. A spectacular chest. High, sculpted cheekbones. A single, vivid though cold, green eye. An ominous-looking patch over the other.

She cleared her throat. Why was she ogling the man? Praevus must have done something to lower her resistance when he rummaged around in her head. She didn’t normally pant like a dog in heat when she saw the bulky types. And she didn’t normally get jealous of other women.

For now, she’d ignore the unexpected fascination with her rescuer. Clean up. Deal with one problem at a time.

Loud voices from the other room faded when she turned on the shower faucets. A lover’s quarrel? She hoped she was the cause.

Oops. Another libidinous lapse.

Why the hell would she be jealous with a man she’d just met? An inhuman man with wings. Madeline sighed. Everything was unsettling. She couldn’t deal with these feelings now. So, she shoved them to the side to be examined later.

When she removed her dirty, torn clothes and stepped under the warm water, a long sigh escaped her lips. Pouring a large dollop of shampoo into her hand, she raised it to her nose.

Outside, Dom’s natural, delectable scent had woven itself around Madeline like fog. He was a hint of ocean spray, the aftermath of a storm, a mellow bourbon. But his bath product was odorless. It figured he would not use coconut-scented bath products.

She lathered twice.

Glancing at the shelf, she saw no conditioner.Oh, well.Soaping her palms, Madeline rubbed her hands over her body, watching dirt swirl down the drain. She still felt unclean. Eying a loofah, she chuckled. Even Immortals sloughed. Would he mind her using it?

Don’t care.

She soaped again and scrubbed off the lather.

Refreshed, Maddy turned off the faucets and stepped onto the rug outside the shower. Wrapping one towel around her, she used the other to dry her hair. Flinging her head forward, she shook out her clean locks. In the mirror, she finger-combed them, the shaggy chin-length cut falling into place.

No competition for Ms. Fishnet Stockings but presentable.

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