Page 107 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

“Can you turn up the temperature?” I ask.

He turns one of the dials clockwise, and the heat turns my skin pink. He massages shampoo firmly into my scalp then pours more into his hands and rubs it into the length of my hair.

I hum in appreciation. “You’re good at this.”

“Lean your head back,” he instructs. Doing as I’m told, I keep my eyes open. He has a look of intense concentration. I get the feeling he applies this level of intensity into everything he does. Giving me the full treatment, he runs conditioner through my hair, using his fingers to tease out the tangles without tugging on it.

“If you lose your millions, you can always become a hairdresser’s assistant,” I mumble.

“Hmm, I would be the whole package—styling, too.”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t let you near my hair with scissors for a million dollars.”

Stopping his ministrations of my hair, he stares into my eyes. “Are you sure?”

I tilt my head, contemplating it. “I’m sure.”

“Why?”

“Money isn’t everything—happiness is. And I’m happy with my hair.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “You mean it, too.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Do you know how many people would turn down a million dollars to have their hair cut? You constantly surprise me.” He laughs under his breath and fixes me with one of those stares. “Never change, Natia. You have a heart that’s pure.” He grins. “Hopefully with some wicked thoughts, though, in particular about me.”

I reach up and place my hand on his cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper.

His eyes widen. “For what?”

“For caring for me, for understanding what I need, and for not treating me like a frightened animal.”

He stops washing my hair and places a hand over mine. “Your strength astounds me every day. This will not change that. You will grieve, you will deal, and then you will fight.”

I quickly look away. My strength just killed a man. I’m not judge, juror, and executioner.

Shower complete, he gives me one of his T-shirts and a pair of sweats.

“Maybe I should keep a change of clothes here if I’m going to keep ending up in your bed,” I quip. I have no energy for the mental slap I deserve.

His lips twitch. “Are you going to keep a toothbrush here, too?” I smack his arm.

He cocoons me in several blankets then lies next to me, knowing all I need is his presence. I shuffle close to feel his warmth and breathe in his heady scent. Finally, staring into his gold eyes, I’m able to give in to the sleep that has been trying to claim me for the last few hours. My final thought is the realization that Archan wouldn’t crush me in a storm—he would ride it out with me.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Archan

Unknown origin.

Her features contort with a pain I can’t fix. This is a pain she will need to come through alone. Nausea rolls through me as the image of her vulnerable body tied down and swelling with the force of the attack flashes in my mind. I can still hear her screams of agony as blood spilled between her legs. Her chemically tainted blood would have most people unconscious for hours—not my little badass fighter, though. She had pulled against her bonds so hard, she tore skin. Even helpless, she fought.

The boy crumpled against the wall had almost every bone in his body shattered. Remorse had flashed across her features when she realized she had killed him.

He deserved none.

If he wasn’t already dead, he would have been soon. The only difference being she made it quick.

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