Page 90 of Whatever Lola Wants

“I’d be glad to,” he answered, pleased when she smiled and tucked into her food.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to beat her ass, after all.

Bummer.

Lola sank back against Simon’s broad chest with a heartfelt groan. The hot water felt like glory on her abused body, and she felt herself really relax for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. Her hair was clean, thanks to her lover, and he’d washed the rest of her too, taking care to be gentle around the scrapes and bruises. All in all, he made a very effective ladies' maid.

Though she probably shouldn’t put it quite that way to him.

“I see that smile,” he said from above. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “You must be feeling better.”

“Much,” she sighed. “Thank you for washing my hair. I feel so much better with it clean.”

“Anytime.” He shifted slightly, his arms coming around her waist. “You ready to get out, or do you want to soak for a while?”

“I never want to get out of this tub.”

His chuckle rumbled in her ear. “Sorry, but you only get ten more minutes.”

“Stingy,” she muttered, and he tweaked her breast in rebuke.

“Much longer than that and the hot water will start working against you. I want to get some ice on that thigh bruise.”

She winced at the thought. “I don’t suppose we could skip that part.”

“I don’t suppose,” he replied, amused.

She gave a forlorn sigh just to hear him chuckle again, then settled in to enjoy her ten minutes.

When it was up he got out first, insisting she stay put until he could bring her a robe, then lifted her out and gently dried her off before bundling her up and carrying her to bed.

He had an ice pack waiting, and she hissed as the cold hit her tender, heated skin.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He held the pack against her leg, his gaze sympathetic. “Try to breathe through it.”

She drew in a deep, cleansing breath, focusing on filling her lungs, then let it out slowly. The breathing technique worked in yoga when she was trying to settle into a difficult or painful pose, maybe it would work on bruises as well.

To her surprise, the pain lessened slightly. Whether a result of the numbing ice or the breathing she didn’t know, and didn’t care.

“Better?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Better.”

His eyes softened. “Good.”

He made her keep the ice on for twenty minutes, then carried her back into the living room to settle her on the sofa. It was early yet, and the nap she’d had meant she wasn’t too tired despite the upheaval of the day before, so this time he picked a movie to watch.

“This movie also qualifies as funny, sexy, and romantic.”

He shot her a look of disbelief. “Funny and sexy I’ll grant you, but Deadpool is romantic?”

“Oh, yeah. Serious romance.”

He shook his head and settled back on the sofa, with her lying on top of him again. “Sorry, disagree. There’s no romance in this at all.”

She snuggled into his chest. “I’ll point out all the romantic bits.”

“You’re going to wreck it for me,” he complained.

---