Page 91 of Eyes in the Shadows

“Shh.” He sweeps a hand up and down my back in a comforting gesture. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

I swallow and shake my head. Why is he sorry? I flatten my hand against his chest, watching as the water beads against my skin and slides down towards my arm. The warmth of the shower helped with the shivering at first, and it felt so good that I didn’t want to get out. I’m probably using up all the hot water. I’m the one who should be sorry—

No, I shouldn’t. What a weird thought.

God, I feel so weird. Like I’m going to float away.

“You’re hurt?” I ask, trying to tilt my head back to see. I thought I’d caught the outline of bruising and swelling on his jaw. He hugs me tighter, not letting me pull back.

“Not badly.”

“Good. That’s… good,” I whisper. I feel like I have to tell him, like I need to confess. If their whole mission is screwed up now, it was my fault. “I was so stupid, Mac.”

“Shh,” he repeats gently.

“I saw him—Rossi—and I stayed at the table because we hadn’t paid… Dimitri had to come in to get me… God, I was so dumb. I should have left.”

“Eleanor, stop. I know you were scared. You didn’t know what to do and I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, baby. I should never have taken you out.”

“You didn’t know that would happen,” I argue.

“It’s no excuse. Your safety is my responsibility.”

I wipe the water out of my eyes—tap, not tears—and blink. The declaration warms me from the inside in a way the hot water hasn’t been able to touch, but it doesn’t really make much sense. I’m an adult, my safety is my own responsibility. Sure, he knows more about the dangers than I do in this particular situation, but he can’t feel responsible for the stupid choices I make.

“Why?” I ask.

He doesn’t say anything, so I tilt back and look up at him. I’m not surprised to find the intensity in his features but a little taken aback by the level of it.

“Because I…” his eyes flick back and forth between mine. “I care about you. And I got you into this.”

I feel my lips stretch and part a little. He cares about me. It feels ridiculous that this is the first thing that’s broken through the weird, cold numbness. “I care about you, too.”

He smiles and winces, then I see the swelling on his jaw. I trace it gently, skimming the area with the very tips of my fingers. “What happened?”

What he tells me is surely the abridged version, but I appreciate that there are enough details that I’m sure he didn’t leave out anything important. I shift away to make room so I can unbutton his shirt, and hiss in sympathy at the blue skin—that’s going to make a colorful bruise tomorrow. I take his hand, and examine the cuts on his knuckles.

Finally, I feel ready to leave the heat. I stand awkwardly, and shut the main valve. He’s out of the shower and holding open a towel for me before I can offer himmy hand up, and I have to contain a smile at the sight of him trying to help me dry myself while he’s making a puddle on the floor. I let him wind it around me, then watch as he drops his sopping clothes before getting one for himself.

The sight of his toned ass makes me look away and busy myself with giving my hair a rough towel dry. It feels wrong to be lusting after him when he’s injured.

I grab his clothes—which, wet, weigh a ton—from the floor for him and deposit them on top of mine in the washer, and crank it. Dimitri told me to wash my dress, but I’d waited for him.

“Go sit on the bed,” I instruct him as I turn to rifle around in the supply baskets in the closet. I know I saw some first aid supplies. At his quizzical head tilt, I explain, “I’m going to put antibiotic ointment on your hand and bandage it.”

His answering smile is tender. “Darlin’, you don’t have to—”

“It’s not a request,” I say, lifting my chin, echoing his words when he first applied the medicated psoriasis cream for me. Even though I’m not sure I’m even capable of the same amount of confidence he’d had when he’d said it, it feels like the right thing to say.

He steps towards me and brushes his lips against mine. There’s no real heat to it, it’s more of a thank you, and he goes to do as I asked.

When I exit the bathroom, I see that he’s stretched out on the bed. His towel is still tucked around his waist, and he’s slightly upright against the padded headboard. I expect him to move over to make room for me to sit, but he doesn’t. He looks at me and gestures to his outstretched legs. “You know what I’m going to ask. Darlin’, I need this. For once—”

I cut him off by climbing up next to him, balancing myself against his chest for as long as it takes to throw my knee over his legs, and settling back onto my heels. He’s been injured tonight, but he knows his limitations. He won’t let me hurt him. I am careful of the area on his stomach where he was hit, though.

His towel is against my bare skin and I can feel every movement underneath me. It’s almost distractingly arousing, but I try to focus. He needs this.

His left hand grips my hip and he presents his right to my inspection. I uncap the ointment and lay the roll of gauze on the bed next to me until I need it. “What happens now? With Rossi and everything?”

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