against his bruised back.
Finally—finally—he stops. Two deep breaths, and he pulls me around in front of him, wrapping his arms around my back so we’re chest to chest, cupping his hand behind my neck.
He looks me over, eyes wide and horrified. Much of the paint has washed off me, and I’m guessing he can see the cuts more clearly now. I tense my muscles so I can grab onto him if he starts into the wall again.
Instead, his face twists. His eyes glisten, filling with moisture. And then, before he allows me to see anything more, he drops his head onto my shoulder and presses his face into the damp skin of my neck. I feel his lips move in time with his voice.
“Jesus, Red. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” With his face still hidden in my hair, he runs a hand up my neck, over my cheek, and over my head, smoothing down my wild, red locks.
His arm, around my shoulders, presses me closer to him. So close I can barely breathe.
I stroke my fingers gently up his back.
I know for sure now—he didn’t kill her. He would never hurt a woman.
“It was my fault,” he whispers. “I tried to blackmail him.”
“Who?”
He tilts his face up and I watch as his eyebrows draw subtly together. His eyes search my face. He looks puzzled. Like a man waking up from a dream. He takes my face in his palms.
“Red.”
He drags his gaze down my body, flinching when he sees the deep slash on my thigh. “Jesus.” He digs his hand into his hair and turns away. When he turns back toward me, I can see him coming back into himself. “Fucking Christ,” he says, “I need to clean you up.”
He scoops me up and holds me over the water, with my feet hovering above the steamy surface. “Shit,” he says. “It’s gonna be too hot. You’re bleeding.”
With my body pressed against his chest, he leans over and adjusts the faucet. Then, in one elegant motion, he steps over the tub’s side and sinks down with me in his lap.
I close my eyes and let my mind drift. I like the feeling of him holding me. I can tell he’s trying not to jar me around, and affection for him swells inside me like a warm balloon.
“This is the second bath you’ve given me,” I murmur.
He sits down a little deeper into the water, and I feel it cascade over my feet and shins and butt. It burns, but it’s a good burn. I tell myself that it’s a cleansing burn. Dizziness spins through me.
Race smooths some water over my forehead. “This okay?”
I nod, but I can’t find the strength to open my eyes.
He angles me so the gash on my right thigh isn’t in the water. I feel him drag a wash cloth over my belly. There’s a cut there, but it isn’t deep.
He moves the wash cloth over every part of me, reaching out to re-wet it with cool water from the faucet before dabbing it on my cuts.
He saves the deep one on my thigh for last, and although I try not to flinch, I can’t seem to help myself.
He says something low and soft. Then I feel the scruff of his jaw against my cheek. He rubs his lips over my nose, and they touch down on mine for a sweet second before he pulls away.
My insides ache with needing him. Even after the last few hours. Especially after the last few hours. I peek up at him, reach out to twine an arm around his neck. “Please, Race…”
“Please what?” he whispers.
“I want you to touch me. Make me feel better.”
He leans subtly away from me, and the arm that isn’t holding me dips down into the water. His mouth tightens, and he directs his gaze somewhere over my shoulder as he shakes his head. “No, Red. You don’t need that.”
“Don’t tell me what I need.” My voice is strong, but my body still feels weak. I fumble for his fingers, grasping his free hand and twining two of my fingers through his limp ones. “Please. I need you. I need…someone.” I can feel the tears sting my eyes now, and I’m worried I’m about to lose it.
He’s looking away from me. Like he doesn’t care, but I know he does. I wrap both arms around his