Even though he’d laughed that off, she couldn’t think of any other explanation.
But he hadn’t arrested her.
Closing her eyes, she wondered how he’d known how to find her. And what exactly he’d done to Benloise. Shit, that image of blood on Assail’s face, around his mouth …
Who was going to be in charge of Caldwell now?
Duh.
Lifting a hand out of the water, she pushed her hair back. The wetness was wicking up the length of it, warming the base of her neck, making her perspire.
God, it was so quiet here.
She had lived in that house with her grandmother for almost a decade and she was used to the chatter of a neighborhood: cars driving by, dogs barking distantly, children yelping and yelling as they dribbled basketballs in driveways. Here? Only the water moving against the tub as she shifted her legs around—and she knew the silence wasn’t just because there were no other houses immediately around them. This place had been built like a fortress, and it had tricks. High-level tricks.
She thought back to that night she had first come here at Benloise’s request. Her mission had been to spy on Assail and his castle—and what she’d discovered had confounded her: Those strange holographic curtains. The security cameras. And the man himself.
Maybe she was over-thinking things. Maybe Assail and his buddies were just hard-core doomsday preppers …
Closing her eyes, she gave up on everything and just floated in the water. She could have hit the jets, but her body had been through enough agitation, thank you very much—
Abruptly, emotions bubbled up, too many to hold.
Jerking upright, water splashed out and hit the floor. “Damn it.”
How long was it going to take before she felt normal? How many nights of the jitters, and distractions at meals, and hidden crying jags was it going to take?
Getting out, she snagged a fluffy white towel off the counter and winced as it came in contact with her skin. It was like her nerves were on high alert, weather vanes catching each pull of the terry cloth, every blow from the vents above, all the shivers of water evaporating—
“You are beautiful.”
Her wet heel squeaked as she wrenched around to the doorway. Assail was standing in the shadows, a dark, looming presence that made her feel more than just naked.
There was an electric moment as their eyes met.
And then she dropped her towel. “I need you.”
The sound of him exhaling was all about a kind of defeat, but she didn’t care. She could feel the sizzle in the air between them, and knew it was not one-sided.
“Now,” she demanded.
“How can I say no,” he whispered in that accented voice of his.
He came to her and took her face in his broad, warm hands—and it was such a relief to have him bend down and brush his lips against hers, plying her mouth, soothing her while sexing her up. And then she was off the floor and in his arms, being carried into the bedroom.
With incredible gentleness, he laid her out on the fur duvet as if she were in danger of shattering—which was too right. Even as her body responded to him by loosening up and going liquid, she was on the knife edge of breaking apart.
But this was going to help.
She pulled his shoulders down to her as he settled beside her on the bed—like he was worried that trapping her in any way might panic her. Except she wanted his weight to tether her; she wanted the feel of him pressing her down into the mattress, replacing memory with reality, shifting her consciousness through contact.
Sola pulled him onto her. Splitting her legs to make room, the erection behind his fly went right to her core, the pleated wool pants he had on scratching against her sensitive skin, making her moan—in a good way.
More with the kissing, his tongue slipping into her mouth, his palms going to her br**sts. He was better than the water in the tub for her aches and pains, especially as he rolled his hips against her, stroking her sex with the promise of his own, bringing her along nice and easy. And as her ni**les tightened to the point of pain, he seemed to know what she needed next, breaking the seal on her mouth and kissing his way down to them.
His tongue was lazy as he licked around one and then the other—before sucking in a tip and pulling at it.
Arching into the pleasure, she stroked his hair back, the thick waves giving her more than enough to hold on to … as she looked into the mirror above the bed.
And watched him make love to her.
“Oh, Marisol … a feast for the eyes…” His lids were low as he lifted his head and looked down her body. “You are a male’s dream.”
Hardly. She was lean as a boy, with no hips to speak of and br**sts that were barely big enough to need a bra—and yet like this, in this dim light, on this circular bed, under his straining watch, she was as voluptuous as any woman on the planet, fully sexualized and ready to be pleased by her man.
Even though he wasn’t really hers.
Dropping his head back down, he attended to her br**sts some more as his fingers drifted over to her hip and onto her outer thigh. Up and down he petted her leg, as he suckled and ground carefully against her—
And then his hand slipped between them, replacing his clothed erection, passing over her wet sex once, twice … and then rubbing.
He recaptured her mouth as his fingers delved in.
For a split second, she winced and stiffened, her body remembering the last time that had happened.
Assail immediately stopped everything. Staring down at her, his expression darkened to the point of violence. “How badly were you hurt.”
Sola just shook her head. She didn’t want to go there, not when relief was so close she could touch it.
“Marisol. How bad.”
“I thought you said I’m supposed to forget it happened.”
His eyes closed as if he were in pain. “I don’t want you hurt—ever. But especially not like that.”
God, he was beautiful, those handsome features of his pulled into agony on her behalf.
She reached out and smoothed his brow, erasing the lines that had been created. “Just be with me. Make it all about you and not … anybody or anything else. That is what I need right now.”
Every time Assail thought his female was done surprising him, Marisol took him to another, deeper level. In this case, the idea that some man had brutalized her sacred body … Virgin Scribe in the Fade, his brain literally shut down from a traffic jam of aggression and agony.
And yet just her touch was enough to redirect him from the violence.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed as she nuzzled his throat—