Shadow's Claim

She scowled up at the ceiling. Oh, how bad could a bath be? She would refuse to wash any part of him below the waist. I won’t get caught up like I did last night.

Because this time she’d know he wasn’t Cas.

“It counts as five boons,” she said. Then she’d have only two left after this, and her greedy gaze could be appeased to an extent. His back was plenty to start out with.

“Three,” he countered.

“Four.”

“Agreed,” he said.

Okay, only three left. With straightened shoulders, she turned toward the tub. I can do this. As she approached, she realized the water was sudsy and steaming, concealing his body from just below those developed pecs down.

Which was a good thing. It was.

She knelt behind him, beginning to remove one glove.

He turned sharply, twisting to watch her, as if he didn’t want to miss even this small unveiling.

Flustered again. When she began to roll it down her arm, she did feel like she was stripping—for him. By the second glove, his eyes were flickering.

Once her arms were bared, he handed her a cloth and soap, and their fingers touched. Another current seemed to leap between them. He glanced up quickly, as if to gauge if she’d felt it too.

Whatever he saw appeared to satisfy him. At length he gave her his back.

In the steam, a few locks of his hair grew tousled about his neck. Black, black hair that gleamed like jet. His leather tie caught her attention. “You don’t want to remove your crystal?”

“Never,” was all he said.

She wondered where he’d gotten it. Had a former lover given it to him? “Fine.” She assumed a businesslike demeanor, unwilling for him to know how much this prospect alternately excited and dismayed her. Soaping up the cloth, she rubbed it across smooth, taut skin from one of his shoulders to the other.

Repeat. He wasn’t the only one who could be methodical. One shoulder to the other. Repeat.

Had that movement been a bit more leisurely? Perhaps; his muscles flexed in response.

He’d killed with those muscles. He’d killed for her.

Inward shake. Another sweep of the cloth. “Do you always have unwilling females bathe you?”

“You’re a first in many regards.” Without warning, he snagged the cloth from her. “Continue without it.”

“Why?” Was that her voice sounding so breathless?

“You enjoyed touching me last night.” He stretched his long arms along the sides of the tub. “It’s my hope that you will again.”

“This was your plan? You think to seduce me like this?”

“Yes.”

How could one word hold so much confidence? She swallowed, but did continue running her palms over his shoulders and neck.

Yes, she’d always had an artist’s eye. She looked at things in terms of relief and shadow, color and contrast. Because of the nature of her work, she paid attention to form and function.

And now she could see the shapes she’d only felt. She could take her time registering the utter might of his body.

The raised muscles around his shoulders. The indentation above each of his bulging biceps. The strong fingers now clutching the side of the tub.

She couldn’t decide which of her senses Daciano appealed to most. Tactile, visual? Not to mention his vampire scent. She wasn’t even surprised to find her slick palms slipping lower down his back, exploring him.

Outside, the rain began to pour, the wind to howl. Inside was all sultry warmth and glowing firelight. Her eyelids drooped to half-mast, then slid shut as she lost herself in sensation—the texture of his skin beneath her sensitive fingertips, the unyielding form of his sculpted back, the heat rising from the water, from his very body.

For her work, she honed and tweaked, iteration after iteration, until she found her creation faultless.

I wouldn’t change an inch of his body. Not one single inch.

As she wondered if she could grow addicted to this . . . this exploration, she kneaded his neck. He exhaled a relaxed breath, sinking back into her hands.

She went up on her knees to reach farther forward—and possibly to steal a peek. But the water still concealed him. All she could make out was a shadowy shape at his groin, that enticingly large shape she’d stroked. Had it pulsed in the water?

How titillating. She would give karats to see it.

Too late, she realized she’d dipped her palms over his shoulders, down past his collarbone. She was officially tending to his “front.”

Relaxed no more, he grew tense as a spring trap, even as his knees fell wide.

Instead of alarm, excitement coursed through her. Her hands slipped lower.

His knuckles went white as he gripped the side of the tub. The metal began to bend under the pressure. . . .

Chapter 19

Don’t drag her into the water . . . don’t force her hands down.

Last night Trehan had restrained himself—barely—and had been rewarded with her desire this eve. Tonight he must do the same.

Bettina wasn’t immune to him, and he was one step closer to seducing her. Which meant he needed to deny instinct once more, and use his mind to win her. Remember the plan!

Again, easier said . . .

Even now her dainty hands glided over his collarbone, her graceful arms lightly draping over his shoulders.

Even now her breaths fanned over his damp ear. Each exhalation made his cock jerk hungrily beneath the water.

His Bride was teaching him much about himself this eve, awakening him even more. He’d never known how sensitive his ears were. Or his shoulders. Or the back of his neck. . . .

When she’d begun kneading his muscles, he realized his plan had worked all too well. She was lost to sensation.

A sensual little sorceress. His Bride was o comoara. A treasure.

Comoara mea. My treasure.

Was she leaning forward to get a look at his shaft? She’d felt it; now she must want to see it. Though he wasn’t often the subject of scrutiny, he was about to be.

Zeii, I want to show it to her. The idea aroused him unbearably; his hips began to rock. Would his be the first one she’d seen hard? Definitely the last one.

Should he take himself in hand and present it . . . ? The notion faded when she rubbed her palms lower than before.

This had been his plan. His seduction. Now he could barely think. Was my chest always this sensitive—

She grazed his nipples; he hissed, bowing his back for more, clenching his fists on the sides of the tub.

When his fingers dug furrows into the groaning iron, she went still.

He’d frightened her, ruining this—