Page 14 of Unexpected Heroine

Tears threaten to come again, but I hold them back this time.

My lower rib cage proves to be the most tender, and he must know it, because his touch becomes featherlight as he cleans my midsection.

Curiosity finally gets to me. “Is it bruised badly?”

“Yes, baby.” His words are crisp, both compassion and vehemence woven into his tone.

Tenderness for me. Rancor at the ones who hurt me.

I love it.

“After we get some food in your stomach, you can have something for the pain. We can apply ice and wrap your ribs if you want. It might help. I’ve got an Ace bandage or two around here somewhere.”

“Thank you.”

I touch his cheek and briefly bring his focus to my face, hoping he sees how ardently I mean those two often overused words.

For once, he doesn’t tease me about it.

Now that he’s done cleaning my body, he squirts a few pumps of my facial cleanser into his hands and rubs them together. “Look up. Close your eyes.”

Dutifully, I comply. Affection and gratitude for him swell in me, clogging my throat. When I force myself to take a deep breath, my ribs sting. But I’m more successful in holding back my wince this time so he doesn’t think it’s from something he’s doing.

His touch is so tender as he runs his palms and fingertips over my cheeks and under my eyes, massaging away the grime.

Once he’s fully scrubbed my face and behind my ears, he cups my cheeks and tilts my head backward to rinse it clean.

As if that’s a possibility.

He releases his delicate hold on my face, swipes the washcloth from the hook, and gets it nice and sudsy. Again, he drops to his knees.

Confusion addles my fatigued mind. He already cleaned my lower half.

When he glances up at me, his eyes are red-rimmed and sorrowful. “Open your legs, sweetness.”

My mouth opens to object, but I can’t find the words.

He holds the cloth up to me. “Unless you want to do it.”

Taking it from him, I nod swiftly. That’s just a bit too much intimacy for me right now.

He doesn’t offer the slightest protest.

James has always doted on me when we shower together. Considering how he has always cared for me in other ways, it’s no surprise he seems to find joy in cleaning my body too. It typically ends with spicy times, which is a happy bonus for us both.

Tonight, he doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it. Not that I blame him. He reeks of pain.

Much like me.

He rises slowly, dragging his palms up my legs and over my hips. It’s not seductive or arousing, just affectionate.

As I turn my back to him, I reach between my legs with the washcloth. It stings at first. Nonetheless, I press through the pain and scrub the hell out of myself.

Out of habit, I glance down at my body. My eyes lock on the marks that had James barely able to control his rage when he took off my shirt.

I gasp in shock.

A series of four oval bruises, progressively larger in size, stretch from my waist to my rib cage under my right breast. My upper arms have fingertip-shaped bruises on them. And I know that they weren’t caused by just one person. They all loved to grab us harshly and sling us around like rag dolls.

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