I slip beneath the water and let the bubbles cover me up. Only my head is exposed as I stare up at him and wish again that he was a different kind of man. I clamp my lips tight and pray for the impossible.
Please, someone rescue me. Take me from this living hell.
“Tell me how you got here.” Max sits on the side of the tub. His broad shoulders draw my eye, as does the swath of red on his arm.
“You’re bleeding.”
He glances at his arm and shrugs. “A flesh wound.”
I can’t help but giggle thinking of the Monty Python skit about Just a flesh wound.
Max looks down at me as if I’ve lost my ever-loving mind, and he may not be wrong. I shouldn’t feel as comfortable as I do, laying in a tub, half-naked, with a man who killed another man for the privilege of making me his.
“Sorry.” I peek up at him and notice the bubbles are growing fast. My entire body is covered.
He glances at his arm and pokes his fingers through the cut in his shirt. “I’ve had worse.”
“How?”
“What do you mean, how?”
“I thought you were a businessman dealing in Central American antiquities.”
“So?”
“It doesn’t seem to be the kind of job where the owner is exposed to flesh wounds.”
“You’d be surprised.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, turning his rough and rugged face into a thing of beauty. “Now, how about you remove my shirt?”
Here it comes. The violation. My body tenses.
It’s too easy to let down my guard around this man. It’s the easiness of his smiles, something Benefield never showed.
Max stretches out his hand and gives a little flick of his fingers. “I’m not going to bite.”
I don’t know whether to trust him, or myself. There’s a small part of me, a part which is growing rapidly, that wants something close to that. Not a real bite, but a little nibble?
Damn, I’ve officially gone insane.
“Come on, Eve, don’t make me come in there and get it.” His words are teasing, but I can’t separate the truth from the rest of it.
I slowly work his shirt up and over my head, handing him the dripping, wet fabric coated in sudsy bubbles.
Max puts the shirt in the sink. I watch as he yanks his shirt open and peels it off his muscular frame. Dear lord, the man is built. Every muscle’s defined. Every ridge, cut from granite, is hard and pronounced. His back flexes as he rolls his shoulders back, then he pulls his arm forward to get a look at that cut.
My eyes are glued to the tapestry of his back, and the tattoos printed into his flesh. It’s a 3D rendering of an avenging angel fighting the demons of hell.
“Wow.” I clamp my hand over my mouth as Max spins around.
“Yes, bubbles?” Mischief twinkles in his eyes as he smiles at me.
“Bubbles?”
“Yes.” He points at the tub. “You look like you’re floating in a cloud of bubbles. You may want to turn the water off before the bubbles overflow.”
I feel around and realize the water doesn’t fill half the tub. All the rest is a thick layer of bubbles. I can’t help but smile. Talk about a bubble bath. I scoot to the end of the tub and turn off the water. Then I turn around and sit sideways, my legs tucked up under me, crisscross applesauce, as I scoop up a massive handful of bubbles. I blow on the bubbles sending a cloud lifting into the air.
Max stares down at me with that gentle smile on his face. That’s when I see the dark stain over his left thigh.
“Max, your leg.”
He glances down. Looks at it. Shrugs. “Forgot about that.”
“You need to clean that out. The wound on your arm as well.”
“I’d much rather watch my bubbles blow bubbles.” He crosses his arms and a light-hearted smirk trades places with that smile.
Bubbles? Did he just call me bubbles?
“Can I trust you to stay in the tub while I shower? Or do I need to wait for Knox to return with your things?”
I glance toward the door, but the idea of streaking through The Retreat covered in nothing other than bubbles doesn’t sound like a good plan.
“I’ll stay.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Good.” He reaches for his belt and I can’t help but tense. “Relax, bubbles. I’m just going to take a shower. Consider this fair play.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ve seen you naked. Now you get to see me naked.”
Nope. Not going to happen. If I see the rest of him without clothes, any restraint will fall away. No matter how good-looking, no matter how lickable his eight-pack looks, I am not going down that road.
I spin around in the tub, placing my back to him. Not that it helps. There are mirrors everywhere, and he’s not shy about stripping out of his pants. First, he shucks his shoes, then he unzips his pants. In one fluid movement, he’s naked as a jaybird, reminding me I, too, am wearing my birthday suit.
Max says nothing as he strides over to the shower built for a committee. He turns on the faucet, then winks when he catches me peeking.
I’m not peeking. I’m staring.
My jaw hit the floor when I saw the size of him. Not a tiny, limp dick. Oh no, Max’s package is built in proportion to the rest of him. He faces the stream of water, steps under the spray, and grabs a bar of soap.
Holy mother of… I can’t take it and slip beneath the bubbles before I see more, or say something I shouldn’t.
Why does my tormentor need to look like a Grecian god out of the history books, and that tattoo? I need another look at that tattoo.
I stay buried beneath a foot and a half of bubbles for as long as I can. When I surface, Max stands with his injured leg propped up on the bench seat in the shower.
I see everything, only this time, instead of soft and flaccid, his member is semi-hard and rising.
He cocks his head, catches me staring again, then casually goes back to examining the stab wound on his leg.
As for me, I don’t know what to do. I feel marginally better. My arm sockets ache, but that deep, pulsating agony is gone. My calves feel—relaxed. Maybe this bubble bath is doing what it’s supposed to do?
A shadow darkens the doorway and I tense. Knox saunters into the bathroom, like it’s nothing for him to walk in on his boss in the shower and a chick in a tub full of bubbles.
“Got a medical kit and gear for…” His attention swivels over to me. He gives a slow shake of his head. “Maybe I should’ve knocked?”
“Nah.” Max turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He makes no effort to hide his nakedness from me. Knox hands him a towel and Max rubs at his head. “Any word on the dragons?”
Dragons?
“On time. On target.” Knox pats his chest. “You gonna get dressed or are you planning on doing this naked?”
“Ha ha.” Max gestures for the medical kit. “Just need to wrap my leg and slap something on my arm.”
“Gotcha.” Knox looks at me with compassion. “Don’t worry, kid. Everything is going to be all right.”
All right?
I don’t think anything will ever be all right.
Max and Knox leave me to my bath overflowing with bubbles. Their low voices drone on at the subthreshold of my hearing. I decide to take advantage of the moment and enjoy the warm water and the bubbles as they pop and fizz all around me. At some point, I even take a moment to rub them through my hair.