Page 92 of Bride

“Ah.”

“I won’t let you...”

I reach out to clasp his shoulders. “Lowe, there’s noletting. And you can trustme.” I smile up at him. “Please. I’m going to stay, and I’m going to help, and I’m going to...” I take a deep breath.

No.God, no.

“Shower. I’m going to shower. I hadnotrealized how bad I stink. I amoffendingmyself.”

He studies me, undoubtedly preparing more rebuttals, lining up arguments, all ready to drive me away. But they never come. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifts into a soft smile, and he abruptly picks me up, arms under my back and knees. “What are you— What is happening?”

“You do need washing,” he agrees, carrying me out of the room.

“Are you going to hose me off in the garden?”

“We’ll see.” But he brings me to my bathroom, deposits me on the marble counter, and draws a bath. I’m not so weak that I couldn’t do this on my own, but I enjoy watching his graceful movements, the hypnotic play of muscles under his T-shirt as he bends to fill the tub. The water level slowly rises, and he tests the temperature with his fingers. I think about Owen—the only person who may have been remotely upset by me being on the brink of death. I should contact him. I should ask after Lowe’s mate. As the Were Collateral, she must have been terrified, becausemydeath would lead tohers. I bet Lowe was acutely aware, and feared for his mate.

But I also believe that he cares for me. Deeply.

He chooses a lavender bottle from the shelf. I can’t smell its scent, but as steam fills the room, I pack my lungs with warm air. I may not be who Lowe was meant for, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’tsomethinghere. And I’ve had so little throughout my life, I know better than to demand all or nothing. I’m good at making do.

“It’s ready,” he says with his deep, mundane voice.

It’s a dreamlike sequence, but we’re on the same page: I slide to my feet and untie my hair, running a hand through it until it fallslimp around my shoulders. I take everything else off and stand naked, skin pale and cool and tacky.

Should I be nervous? Because I’m not. Lowe... I’m not sure how he feels. He certainly doesn’t pretend to be uninterested, and looks his fill, following each curve of mine more than once, betraying little but hiding nothing. I’m not made like a Were woman. I’m not toned, and have no defined muscles. Either Lowe knew to expect it, or he doesn’t mind. His eyes glaze over as I step forward, and I take his hand when he offers it. I’m drowsy, wobbly-kneed. He lowers me into the tub.

“This feels nice.” I sigh once I’m submerged. I lean forward, forehead against my knees, letting my hair float around me.

“It does.” He’s not in the bath, but perhaps he’s referring to the shaky warmth of this unspoken agreement. This moment we’re sharing. He takes a washcloth from the shelf and dips it into the water.

His first pass is delicate over my bent neck. “So you’re one of them,” I say, instantly relaxed under his touch.

“Of who?”

“People who use washcloths.”

I hear his smile in his voice. “If you have a sponge...”

“I don’t use anything,” I offer.

Because it’s very much an offer. A request, even. But he says nothing and continues with my arms, starting from the ball of my shoulder. His hands are firm but lightly trembling. He might be more tense about this than I am. “It seemed too forward,” he admits at last. His cheekbones are dusted with an olive tone, his voice husky. He patiently works his way to my ankle, then slowly up my leg.

I decide to be forward. I take his hand into mine and strokeeach knuckle with my thumb, one by one, and once his guard is relaxed, I steal the cloth from him and let it float away. Iknowhe wants to touch me. Iknowhe won’t ask. Iknowhe needs me to do this—put his hand back on my knee, this time without barriers.

His breath hitches, then comes faster. His jaw shifts, like he’s biting the inside of his mouth. The skin of my thigh glistens under his eyes, and his fingers tighten around my flesh, on the verge of something wonderful, something we both want.

But Lowe talks himself out of it. He squeezes his eyes and stands to take care of my back.

I swallow a whimper. “Coward,” I whisper good-naturedly.

In retaliation, he leans in to kiss my nape like he did on the plane—sucking and licking and some gentle biting. A subtle reminder that he’s different from me, a whole other species. If we do this, we’ll have to work things out.

“Do you... How do Weres have sex?”

He laughs softly against my skin, but I sense an edge. “Are you worried?”

I tip my head back. “Should I be?”

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