Itâs homemadeâa relaxing blend of lavender, rosemary and ylang-ylang made especially for me by my sister Rachael. Sheâs the healer in the family, and the one who makes herbal shampoos and lotions and a million other things.
Declan squeezes some of the bath gel onto his hands, rubs them together. Then he leans forward and glides those hands all over me. He starts at my neck, skims down my back and then up my arms to my collarbone before going lower to tickle my ribs and belly button.
My pulse quickensâI canât help it, canât control it. I never can when Declan is touching meâeven now, when I know what heâs doing is meant to soothe and relax me. My whole body goes on alert, my sex softening as my nipples harden.
I know he sees my response, feels the restless way I start to move in the water. But he doesnât pause what heâs doing. He soaps his way over my stomach and up my rib cage before gliding his hands up and over my breasts with the utmost care.
I gasp, arch into his touch. I canât help it. Even upset, I long to feel his hands on my breasts, long for him to cup the weight of them while he pinches my nipples just the way I like.
He doesnât do that, though. Instead, he skims over them like theyâre just another part of my body. Then he moves lower to soap up my thighs and knees and calves. Heâs gentle with me, tender, careful not to press against any of the fading bruises left over from my encounter with the madman. I know it drives him nuts to see them, but tonight he doesnât show his angst by so much as an uneven breath or muffled curse.
When heâs washed every part of meâeven my toesâDeclan turns the water back on and rinses me thoroughly. Then reaches for the plastic cup I keep on the same shelf and fills it up.
âScoot down,â he tells me in a voice filled with gravel, the first indication I have that he isnât quite as unaffected as heâs trying to make me believe. I do what he says, and he tips my head back before slowly, carefully pouring the water over my hair.
He squirts some shampoo into his hand, then begins gently combing it through my hair. The last of the panic and confusion ebbs away under his tender ministrations, utter relaxation taking the place of those feelings. My eyes start to close, but I force them open, keeping them fastened on his.
Lying here in this bathtub as he cares for me, I feel more vulnerable than I ever have in my life. And also more protected. Declanâs face is only a few inches above mine, his eyes locked onto mine as he washes my hair with a gentleness I didnât know he had in him. In their depths I see him, really see him in a way Iâm not sure I ever have before.
Thereâs torment there, a dark fire he doesnât even try to hide.
Strength, more of it than I think even he realizes.
Rage, a slow burn that blankets everything going on inside him.
And deep inside, locked behind the few emotions he doesnât mind showing, is love. Kindness. Tenderness. For me. I know itâs all there for me.
I know he feels it, too. This nebulous connection between us, different from the soulbound thing but no less powerful for all of its delicate fragility.
He starts to rinse my hair out and I reach a hand up because I canât stand the pain of not touching him for one more second. I brush my thumb over those insanely perfect lips of his, cupping his cheek with my hand. His breathing hitches, stops. Then he turns into my touch and presses a warm, lingering kiss in the center of my palm.
âDeclan. I . . .â I donât know what to say, donât even know what I want to say.
âSssh.â He places a wet finger against my lips. âIâve got you, Xandra. I swear Iâve got you.â
The emotion in his eyes grows more raw and powerful with each second that passes and still I donât look away. I canât. Iâm trapped like
Declan squeezes some of the bath gel onto his hands, rubs them together. Then he leans forward and glides those hands all over me. He starts at my neck, skims down my back and then up my arms to my collarbone before going lower to tickle my ribs and belly button.
My pulse quickensâI canât help it, canât control it. I never can when Declan is touching meâeven now, when I know what heâs doing is meant to soothe and relax me. My whole body goes on alert, my sex softening as my nipples harden.
I know he sees my response, feels the restless way I start to move in the water. But he doesnât pause what heâs doing. He soaps his way over my stomach and up my rib cage before gliding his hands up and over my breasts with the utmost care.
I gasp, arch into his touch. I canât help it. Even upset, I long to feel his hands on my breasts, long for him to cup the weight of them while he pinches my nipples just the way I like.
He doesnât do that, though. Instead, he skims over them like theyâre just another part of my body. Then he moves lower to soap up my thighs and knees and calves. Heâs gentle with me, tender, careful not to press against any of the fading bruises left over from my encounter with the madman. I know it drives him nuts to see them, but tonight he doesnât show his angst by so much as an uneven breath or muffled curse.
When heâs washed every part of meâeven my toesâDeclan turns the water back on and rinses me thoroughly. Then reaches for the plastic cup I keep on the same shelf and fills it up.
âScoot down,â he tells me in a voice filled with gravel, the first indication I have that he isnât quite as unaffected as heâs trying to make me believe. I do what he says, and he tips my head back before slowly, carefully pouring the water over my hair.
He squirts some shampoo into his hand, then begins gently combing it through my hair. The last of the panic and confusion ebbs away under his tender ministrations, utter relaxation taking the place of those feelings. My eyes start to close, but I force them open, keeping them fastened on his.
Lying here in this bathtub as he cares for me, I feel more vulnerable than I ever have in my life. And also more protected. Declanâs face is only a few inches above mine, his eyes locked onto mine as he washes my hair with a gentleness I didnât know he had in him. In their depths I see him, really see him in a way Iâm not sure I ever have before.
Thereâs torment there, a dark fire he doesnât even try to hide.
Strength, more of it than I think even he realizes.
Rage, a slow burn that blankets everything going on inside him.
And deep inside, locked behind the few emotions he doesnât mind showing, is love. Kindness. Tenderness. For me. I know itâs all there for me.
I know he feels it, too. This nebulous connection between us, different from the soulbound thing but no less powerful for all of its delicate fragility.
He starts to rinse my hair out and I reach a hand up because I canât stand the pain of not touching him for one more second. I brush my thumb over those insanely perfect lips of his, cupping his cheek with my hand. His breathing hitches, stops. Then he turns into my touch and presses a warm, lingering kiss in the center of my palm.
âDeclan. I . . .â I donât know what to say, donât even know what I want to say.
âSssh.â He places a wet finger against my lips. âIâve got you, Xandra. I swear Iâve got you.â
The emotion in his eyes grows more raw and powerful with each second that passes and still I donât look away. I canât. Iâm trapped like
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