Page 61 of Vengeful Vows

“I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”

I’m partway out of the bathroom when she whispers my name.

She waits for our eyes to meet before saying, “Th-thank you.”

I don’t know why she is thanking me. Paarth was at the bottom of the Chrysler’s employee pyramid, but if he weren’t angry at me for looking deeper into his personal life, he wouldn’t have had a bone to pick with Mara.

I didn’t introduce him to her life, but I am the reason he forced her to relive her nightmares.

That means I am not the man she should be thanking. But once a coward, always a coward.

I dip my chin before reiterating that I’ll wait for her in the kitchen.

I go through the same motions there as I did anytime screams ripped through my mother’s bedroom. I put the kettle on the stovetop and fetch two mugs from a shelf above the freestanding oven before collecting teabags from a container in the pantry.

My routine is so familiar that only the compact design of Mara’s kitchen stops me from believing I am back in my youth, striving to be the “good boy”shewanted me to be when I acted out in rebellion.

I knew what was happening to me wasn’t the norm, but my mother never queried while I misbehaved. She said I was jealous that she paid more attention to my new stepfather than me and that I’d have more than a handful of “minor” injuries to contend with if I ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her.

I’m so deep into wading through the throes of my past that I don’t realize the kettle is whistling loud enough to wake Mara’s neighbors until she leans over me to switch off the gas implement.

I jump when the frilly edge of her dressing gown brushes past my back, and I fucking hate myself for it.

This isn’t about me. It wasn’t back then, and it isn’t now. Not in the slightest.

I put a stop to my self-loathing when Mara whispers, “S-sorry,” before she removes the kettle from the stovetop, fills the mugs, and then fetches the milk from the refrigerator.

“Your hair is wet,” I murmur when the invigorating scent of her shampoo pulls me out of my nightmare. “You’ll catch pneumonia if you let it dry naturally. Let me dry it for you.” My last sentence leaves my mouth before I can stop myself, and it pummels me with shock.

My bewilderment is understandable. The faintest whiff of a feminine product only hours ago gave me hives. Now, I’m convinced one sniff of Mara’s hair could calm the wildest storm.

Mara’s wet hair swishes against her back when she twists to face me. “Um…”

“Please,” I plead, not above begging for the chance to fix my mistakes.

Her eyes dance between mine for several heart-thrashing seconds before she whispers, “O-okay.”

With our teas discarded before they’re touched, Mara helms our walk back to the bathroom for a towel. It dawns on me that her shampoo comes in a range of bathing products when my cock stirs at the scent clinging to the steam of a scorching-hot shower.

“We can go back to the kitchen,” I say when Mara’s hand shakes as she passes me a semi-damp towel. “I don’t mind.”

“He-here is fine.” Her tone is confident despite the shake of her words. “They will keep winning if-if we don’t take the occasional leap of faith.”

With the strength of a tigress, and before I can acknowledge that she said “they,” she turns her back on the only exit and tugs out the elastic keeping her drenched locks hostage.

27

MARA

Air leaves my mouth in a hurry when the faintest creak of the bathroom floor sounds through my ears. I’m not scared. Well, not for me. This is as big a deal for Ark as it is for me. I just have no clue why.

Does he know all the right things to say because he’s dealt with sexual abuse before or because I shared too many secrets while endeavoring to escape the clutches of a predator?

I’m terrified it could be a combination of both, but I can’t hide from the truth any longer. We must be honest if we want any chance of being a “we.”

With Ark’s wide and tormented eyes locked on my reflection in the vanity mirror, he brings the towel to my hair and carefully commences drying it. He sections off pieces and squeezes them with the towel before he scrunches the ends to encourage their natural waves.

It’s clear he’s done this before, and it piques my curiosity to a point I can’t hold back.

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