Page 114 of Shattered & Returned

The fabric stretched taut over the hard planes of his torso, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms roped with muscle. Every angle of him was honed perfection—the edge of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders—as if the gods had taken the very concept of masculine power and forged it into flesh.

A smirk curved his sinful mouth as his heated gaze traveled over me, dripping wet, one arm crossed over my breasts, the other hand shielding my sex from his view.

“I, uh—” I scrambled backward toward the tub. “—I’m going back to my bath. You can shut the door behind you. Thank you.”

I clambered in gracelessly, half-hoping the water would swallow me whole, half-praying my ass looked at least somewhat appealing.

His low laugh curled around me. “Why would I leave when the view’s so captivating?” He prowled closer. “There’s no need to be shy. I know every curve of you by now.”

Heat flooded my cheeks.

Three strides brought him to the tub’s edge. He knelt beside me, sleeves still rolled up, forearms flexing as he reached for the washcloth.

“Let me help you.”

“Your expensive shirt will get wet,” I protested weakly.

He didn’t even glance down as water splashed the fabric. “A sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Every time he said “love,” my heart leapt and my pulse fluttered.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I murmured, mostly to distract myself from the way his knuckles brushed my shoulder blade.

His grin was all wicked promise. “I’ve had practice, baby.”

His fingers slid through my hair, gathering the wet strands with ease and surprising skill. The moment he began massaging the shampoo into my scalp, the pressure just shy of rough, I nearly unraveled. Pleasant tingles raced down my spine, and I dug my teeth into my bottom lip to stifle a moan. I forced my breathing steady, just to play it cool, as if being bathed by a lethal and gorgeous immortal happened to me all the time.

He was meticulous, each movement deliberate. When he guided my head back to rinse, his palm cradled the nape of my neck with a tenderness that made my throat ache. Warm water streamed through my hair, his fingers following, ensuring nothing remained but the scent of roses and the heat of his touch.

A sudden, vivid memory flashed behind my eyes?—

A sunken tub filled with red roses.

Nero lounged in the water, my head resting against his cut chest.

Beyond the window, an impossible shoreline stretched, purple sand melting into a twilight ocean.

His teeth grazed my ear before he thrust deep inside me.

The vision splintered.

I blinked, disoriented. The memory felt too real, toovivid, but it couldn’t be. This was the first time Nero had ever touched me like this. And I’d never known another man, let alone one who looked like he’d been carved from the shadows of a forgotten god.

Why did I remember things that never were? Why did I keep drowning in deaths I’d never died?

Genetic memory? Too neat. Too clean.

A darker thought slithered through me: What if I kept dying, kept being reborn, only to bleed out again in some endless, cursed loop?

I shook my head hard enough to rattle my teeth.Madness.This was what happened when you let Nero Ravencrux kneel at your feet. When an immortal with centuries of sin in his smile looked at you like you were the only woman he craved.

I closed my eyes as he massaged my scalp. He had damn good hands. For a moment, I let myself imagine those fingers tracing lower and lower.

I bit the inside of my cheek. At least the water hid the heat pooling between my thighs.

“I need you to know,” I started.

“Know what?”

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