Page 122 of Hunted to Be Mine
“Beautiful.” His voice came rough.
His hand slid along my uninjured side, mapping the contrast between tender skin and battered places. He avoided pressure where it would hurt, and still he made it feel like want. My breath snagged when his thumb brushed beneath my breast—brief, and enough.
“You must need glasses,” I tried, meaning to sound flip, failing when my voice hitched. “Or you have an alarming fetish for human wreckage.”
He guided me to the bath. I hissed as I sank into the heat, the first sting surrendering to relief as muscles unknotted. I cradled the wrapped cast awkwardly on the rim.
“Oh God,” slipped out as my eyes closed. “This might actually be better than sex.”
“Debatable.” He knelt beside the tub and peeled off his shirt. Lean muscle caught the low light, a reminder of what I’d been missing.
“Planning to watch me bathe?” I lifted a brow. “Because that’s not creepy at all.”
“I’m planning to help you.” He reached for a washcloth. “Unless you’d prefer to struggle one-handed.”
“Very funny.”
“Lean forward.”
I did, wincing when my ribs complained. Warm water over my head drew a soft sound from my throat. It cascaded through my hair and down my back, rinsing away days of sweat and fear.
His fingers gathered my hair, working shampoo through with slow, sure pressure. Thumbs circled my temples, releasing knots I hadn’t noticed.
“You have no idea how badly I wanted to do this in that hospital,” he said, voice low.
“Wash my hair?”
“Touch you without pretending you meant nothing.” Restraint weighted every word. “Every second was torture.”
The confession landed too hard. For days, he’d been the perfect operative, empty and obedient, while I believed I’d lost him. He had held that mask even while caring for me, never letting Dresner see him slip.
“I thought you were gone,” I said, the admission rough. “When they reset you—when your eyes went blank—I thought I’d lost you for good.”
His hands stilled, then resumed. “Part of me was. But you were the thing I held onto. The one thing they couldn’t erase.”
I reached back with my good hand and found his wrist. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
He pressed his lips to my bare shoulder. “No promises I can’t keep.”
“Rinse.” He nudged the moment aside.
I leaned back, letting him guide my head. The simple fact of being cared for by his hands undid me more thoroughly than seduction.
“Can you do my back?” My voice had gone husky.
He paused. “Turn.”
I shifted carefully, mindful of bone and bruise. Wolfe dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and drew it down my spine in one slow, deliberate stroke. A small sound escaped me.
“Too much pressure?”
“Not enough.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. He did it again, this time letting fingertips follow. Sparks chased his touch across skin that had known nothing but pain for days.
He dipped the cloth and brought it to my collarbone, letting water trickle between my breasts. The sight of his tanned hand against my pale skin stole my breath. When his knuckles grazed the side of my breast, it wasn’t accidental.
“Wolfe.”
