Page 27 of Lesson In Forgiveness

The simple answer contracted his chest. Coming from an independent woman who needed no one, it was one hell of a declaration.

“Still need me?”

A flush of color highlighted her pale cheeks for a few seconds. Asking an emotionally-allergic woman to express her feelings, her desires, was akin to pulling her toenails out if her tightly pressed lips were anything to go by, yet she gave him a pitifully small nod.

“Then you’ve got me, little tiger.” He looped his arm around her waist, scowling when he felt the raised bumps of flesh against his forearm and realized they were goddamn scars. Instead of spinning her around to investigate them, he dipped his hand in the water to test the heat—soothingly hot—then guided her in.

“Why—oh.” Tabitha’s moan of relief told him she’d reached breaking point. She slid down into the water, those beautiful blue eyes fluttering closed as she sank to her chin in the bubbles.

Grateful for them and their ability to conceal everything Jasper would kill him for looking at, Grit rolled a towel and slipped it under her neck for support. Christ, she didn’t look well, the shadowing beneath her eyes more pronounced with those pale lashes overlapping them.

“If you want to sleep, Tabitha, you can. I won’t let you go under.” He wasn’t leaving her side until she was out of the water.

“My clothes are gonna get wet,” she mumbled, her brow furrowing. There was a tired whine in her voice. Her legs kicked restlessly beneath the surface, shifting the bubbles.

“I’ve got your clothes.”

“No. Then I’d be naked.” Her lips were barely moving, but the muscles around her mouth and eyes were becoming tense.

“Buck naked, Tabby Cat,” he agreed quietly, then tsked when she began to struggle. “Enough of that. Enough,” he repeated in a stronger tone. “Relax and enjoy your bath. Don’t argue with me.”

Her mouth trembled shut.

“Good girl. You came here for a reason. I’m going to give you what you need. Now, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and finally let that manic brain of yours have some peace.”

The pulse in her throat rabbited wildly. “I don’t like being touched.”

“Then you’re going to hate me in about fifteen minutes. You know what I am,” he told her gently, “and still you came to me. Time to stop being on alert for a while and let someone take care of you.”

Tabitha opened her mouth; Grit just arched an eyebrow.

Swallowing hard, she bobbed her head. Uncertainly flashed in her eyes before she squeezed them shut. Her body damn near vibrated in the tub, her unease palpable, but she showed him a remarkable amount of trust nonetheless.

It pleased him immensely.

Standing, he grabbed the wash cloth and shower gel from the rack, settling onto the edge of the tub and dunking the cloth in the water. He felt Tabitha’s anxiety surge, making a low noise of reassurance in his throat.

Whatever her asshole brother said to her, it had knocked her confidence or her self-esteem, whichever part of her fueled the sassy, fearless persona she wore so seamlessly.

Starting with her hand—after a brief but intense battle—Grit began to tend to her the way he would any wounded sub. Lathering her up with fragrant gel, massaging her palm and fingers, working along her forearm and up her biceps.

Slow, unthreatening movements of his fingers designed to make the wildcat purr. Spreading his magic over every inch of her aside from her breasts and pussy.

Saving those two areas for last, he took his time stroking the cloth over her skin, noting each and every freckle, scar, and… tattoo? Well, that was a surprise. High on the inside of her left bicep were the words, No Surrender, in what he assumed was her handwriting.

Loki would have a fit if he saw it. Avalon’s tattoo artist and piercer was fanatically particular about his artwork, and Grit suspected Tabitha’s amateur work might give the guy a heart attack.

The tattoo itself said a lot about her. Inflicting pain on herself wasn’t an issue, and she wore a visible reminder not to bow down to anyone. Was it a mantra she followed? Something to do with her father or just life in general?

Tabitha’s head thunked lightly on the back of the tub, her neck arching over the towel. Her pulse wasn’t quite as erratic, her muscles were looser and not trembling as hard as they were. She was learning his touch didn’t cause her pain.

Satisfied she was comfortable, Grit spread the cloth over his palm and fingers, covering her breast. A handful of perfect flesh, full and firm. Beneath the dying bubbles, her stomach muscles went rigid, her hands curling into fists.

“Easy, little tiger,” he crooned, keeping his hand still. “Not gonna hurt you.”

Her lip curled. “Don’t touch.”

“Do you trust me, Tabitha?”

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