Page 243 of The Wishing Game

"What, then?"

A deep, growly sound erupts from his throat.

"It does not matter," he suddenly says, stepping away from me.

Whatever I said must have hit a nerve, for he turns with his back to me, pacing around the bathroom.

"Uhm, Ze?"

"What?" He pivots, his expression half-feral.

I wet my lips, surprised by this sudden change in him.

"I think you need to get in the shower to remove the sweet ice from your hair."

He glares at me for a moment before his expression softens, his muscles relaxing, not that I'm looking at them—I'm not, really!

"You do it for me," he says before he grabs my hand and leads me to the shower.

"W-what?"

He doesn't waste any time as he steps inside the shower, taking a seat on the floor and waiting for me to wash him. He has half a smile on his face, his eyes sparkling as he looks up at me, and I find myself melting a little toward him.

Damn it, why does he have to be cute?

"Okay, I guess I can do that..." I trail off as I glance down at my dress. "Let me quickly change into casual clothes," I say and dash out of the shower. I quickly go back to the room and change into a pair of leggings and a plain shirt. When I get back, I find him fiddling with the settings on the mobile shower head, water spraying all around the shower stall. He's sporting an expression that's a mix of confusion and exasperation as he cannot get the shower to function properly. He's already wet, but not much cleaner than before.

"Let me take care of that," I mutter,taking the shower head and moving behind him.

Leaning back, he rests his weight on his elbows as he tips his head back. As I thread my hand through his locks, he closes his eyes, releasing a deep breath as he pushes himself further into my touch.

"Couldn't you have used those powers of yours to avoid getting hit?" I grumble as I set the water to warm before I place the stream over his hair, getting it thoroughly wet.

"I could have," he answers matter-of-factly.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I did not think of it."

"Why?" I frown.

"I did not want you to get hit." He shrugs, his eyes still closed.

I stare at him, replaying his words in my head until the meaning finally dawns on me.

"You foolish man." I shake my head, applying more force on his scalp and massaging it gently.

He releases a deep sound of satisfaction, something akin to a purr as a shudder travels down his body. He's like a cat. A water-loving, pampered cat, but one with the secret personality of a dog.

Grabbing the shampoo container, I pour a generous amount in his hair, working it up until his entire head is enveloped in foam.

"Smells good... like you," he murmurs, almost sleepily.

"Lily and tuberose are my favorite scents," I tell him.

"Is that what they are called..." he muses. "I shall have to acquire some for myself too."

"What do you usually use?" I ask as I bring the shower head over his forehead, gently rinsing the foam away. He preens, a gentle smile on his face as he sways his head from side to side, chasing the touch of my fingers.

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