Page 16 of The Angel in Her

Would he ask about them?

Would they repulse him?

But damn, a bath sounded amazing. I still ached all over, and I could feel the dressings sticking to my wounds. I was sweaty and uncomfortable, and soaking for a while sounded like a dream come true.

So, I had a choice.

Let this strange man see me naked—not strange because he was a stranger—I was used to that part, but because of how he treated me as though I deserved something more than the life I was living or sit here and be uncomfortable until I healed fully, however long that would take.

I looked at my hands in my lap, so I didn’t need to look at his face.

“Yes, I’d like a bath. Thank you.”

He was strong. I mean, I should’ve known just by looking at him, but the way he swept me off the bed, one arm under my legs and the other under my shoulders, was like I didn’t weigh anything at all. I still clung to him as he made his way to the bathroom, although I didn’t need to. At no point did I feel like I was going to fall or slip, but I wanted to. He felt good under my arms with the shifting of his shoulders as he walked.

Security wasn’t something I was used to, and if I could latch on to even the illusion of security while I was here with Zaqiel, while he was whatever I needed him to be in my mind and I was whatever I was to him, then I was going to take the opportunity. I didn’t escape, ever. I had no holidays, no breaks, nothing to break the bleak monotony that was my existence. Because that’s all I was doing— existing and surviving, day after day. What did I have to look forward to?

So, I watched his face, traced the lines of his jaw and neck with my mind as he took the few steps needed to get from the bed to the bathroom. I could pretend those arms around me would protect me always, not just for these few days I was in his care. Maybe I’d imagine I knew who this man really was, and that he was everything I needed—a man who could take me away from here and rescue me, so we’d live happily ever after with a white picket fence and a dog.

Yeah, right.

But it was nice to pretend.

He had run the bath before collecting me from the bed, and I had watched him through the bathroom door as he checked the water temperature with his fingers and adjusted the taps as needed. Now, the clear water swirled in the bathtub that perhaps once was white but now was stained yellow with age.

I didn’t care. This was possibly the most romantic thing to happen to me in my entire life.

Pathetic, huh?

Girls like me, we don’t get the happily ever after—we’re used and thrown away. I had accepted that long ago.

He lowered me to sit on the edge of the bath, and I didn’t say a word as he stripped me of my clothes. He was so incredibly gentle, his fingers nothing more than a whisper of a touch against my skin. His eyes wandered my body, but his face remained impassive. He was exactly as he had promised—a caregiver and nothing more.

When he went to help me into the bath, his hand grazed my breast, and I shuddered.

He paused, staring at the wall in front of him, a muscle in his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. Guess he wasn’t as impassive as he had claimed, but it was good to know he was only human on some level, not some divine being without emotion.

Oh my God.

His eyes widened only slightly as I, honest to God,moanedwhen I was in the water.

It felt amazing.

There was nothing special about it—no oils or bubble bath or luxury soaps. But I don’t think I can describe the feeling of the water as it enveloped me, soaking away all my aches and pains and rinsing off days of sweat and grime.

And blood and tears.

It was like being reborn.

Zaqiel washed me, and I let him. He’d lather the soap between his hands before running them up and down over my arms and back, peeling away the coverings on my wounds as he came to them and discarding them. I tried unsuccessfully not to flinch as he bathed the wounds, various cuts and scrapes, and punctured skin from when Paul continued to hit me once I was swollen and bruised. Every time I flinched, Zaqiel would pause, mumble an apology, and wait a beat for another protest before he resumed his cleaning. It needed to be done, and I don’t think he could’ve possibly been any gentler, so I tried my best to not be a wuss.

But it was hard.

There was so much pain.

“Will they come looking for you?” he asked after a while.

I scoffed. Of course, they fucking wouldn’t. Tyson wouldn’t waste the man-hours on me, and he certainly wouldn’t have called the police. Anything I had that vaguely resembled a family was long gone, and they didn’t know where I was three months ago, let alone that I was somewhere else now in the care of a strange man, recovering from injuries inflicted by another man.

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