Page 12 of Savage King

That's when I realize how matted her hair is. It hits me that she's been held captive for two days with no means of cleaning herself. If it were me, the first thing I would want—after killing the bastards who did this to me—would be a long, hot shower.

I stare contemplatively at the sleeping beauty in my bed, marveling at how perfect she looks in it. I study her fine features. Her dark eyelashes are long, leaving feathery shadows on her dark-rimmed eyes.

A strand of brown hair sticks to the side of her face; it's hard from dried blood. I make up my mind. It won't be easy, but she needs a bath. I eye the IV stand. Yeah, it’s definitely not going to be easy.

With a sigh, I rise and head into the bathroom to turn the shower on, then I peel out of my clothes. After a moment of soul searching, I decide to keep the briefs on. This is not about any sexual fantasy or satisfaction; this is about getting the woman cleaned up the way she deserves.

Back in the bedroom, I pull the comforter down and wrangle her back out of the shirt I just put on. God, she's beautiful.And you're an unscrupulous lecher, my conscience pipes up. Interesting, I haven't heard from that bastard in years.

But he's right; I shouldn’t be doing this.

Not because I don’t want to, but because I like the idea too fucking much.

I peel the shirt all the way from her body, and my breath locks in my throat. Even bruised and battered, she’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Soft, perfect curves. Skin like silk. Her lips are slightly parted in her sleep, oblivious to the effect she has on me or that I'm holding her naked in my arms.

I close my eyes and grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I’ve killed men with my bare hands and commanded armies of criminals, but somehow, this tiny, unconscious woman is my undoing.

I am allowed to look, aren’t I? I mean, I'm not a pervert; I won't touch her, no matter how tempting those delicious high breasts of hers are. My cock hardens, and there's my answer. I definitely shouldn't be looking. A gentleman wouldn't. Then again, I never claimed to be a gentleman. I'm a ruthless mafia boss. I have a reputation to uphold, even to myself.

I pull her unconscious body up in my arms and carry her bridal style into the bathroom while rolling the damn IV stand with us. Like earlier, she fits perfectly into my arms and against my chest, making me marvel at how much I like this. Scarlet isn't heavy by any means, but it takes some maneuvering to get us in the shower with the damn IV stand nearby.

Then there's the fact that I've never bathed an unconscious woman before. Well, I've never bathed a woman, period. I might have fooled around with one or two in the shower—ashower, not this one—but I've never had someone not participate, and I discover this is harder than I imagined.

Finally giving in, I slide us down to the ground. The warm water cascades down on both of us. My briefs are soaked instantly, clinging to my body, but I barely notice. All I see is her.

Even unconscious, she tempts me. Her skin is soft under my fingers, her breath feather-light against my chest. I shouldn’t be thinking this way, not now. Not when she’s weak and vulnerable. But I do. Because I’m a bastard with no soul, and she’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

When I wash her, I force myself to be clinical. Efficient. But the moment my fingers glide over the curve of her breast and a small sigh escapes her, something in me snaps.

This is a mistake—a dangerous one.

But it’s too late. Because I want her. And I always take what I want.

Toni, don't you fucking dare, I cuss at myself. Yeah, that's a no-no. Same with when it's time to wash her pussy. Fuck my cock. I close my eyes and grunt while another small moan escapes her.Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck, fuck. You can do this, Toni. You are a man of steel willpower.

Not getting the bandage on her back wet is even more challenging—I think I owe Doc one for having the foresight to make her bandage waterproof—especially when it's time to wash and condition her hair. All I have is what I use, but somehow, I like her to smell of my products.

More fine scars mar her hips and the insides of her thighs. This woman must have gone through years of abuse as a child. I don't care who the bastard is who did that to her. I will find and kill him. If it's the judge, his life will get an extension until after he announces Carlos's verdict, but not a second later. I fucking hate child abusers. They are the worst kind of criminals.

When she's finally clean—my dick tries to tell me that her breasts could use one more go-round of soap, but I resist—Iwrap her up in a towel and dry her off. The t-shirt is next, and a deep sigh of relief escapes me now that she's dressed again. I congratulate myself for being able to resist her tempting body. Shit, a Venus statue has nothing on this woman.

Once she's back in bed, I face another dilemma: her long hair is all tangled. I have enough experience with women in general and a little sister in particular to know this poses a major problem.

When did you become a handmaiden, Toni? My mind teases, and I want to beat the bastard to a pulp. Using my iron will, I brush her hair and put it into a braid. There!

Fuck me!

I pull the comforter back up around her, marvel one more time at her beauty, and then put on some dry briefs and sit on one of the armchairs with a glass of Blue Label in my hand.

As if drawn by a magnetic pull, my gaze returns to the sleeping woman on my bed.Mybed. No woman has ever slept inmybed. No woman has everbeenin my bedroom, period. What was I thinking? I should have brought her to one of the many guest bedrooms.

You wouldn't have been able to keep an eye on her there, my mind justifies, and I take a deep sip of the whiskey. I fully agree with that. Never mind that I could have stayed as easily with her in a guest bedroom as in here.

Yeah, but you have all your stuff here.

Another good point.

Still.

---