16. The Bathtub #2
“I know.”Something about the way she said it made him look at her.Camila’s fingers moved down his shoulder.Past the old scar she’d found the morning after their first night together.Then stopped.There was another mark farther around his side, usually hidden beneath clothing.Camila frowned.
“What’s that?”Chris followed her gaze.Shit. “Scar.”
“I can see that.”
“Then mystery solved.”
“Chris.”He closed his eyes again.“Please don’t interrogate me in the bathtub.”
“You’re trapped.”His eyes opened.Camila smiled sweetly.“That sounded disturbingly planned.”
“Turn.”
“No.”
“Chris.”
“No.”She leaned closer to inspect it.Her expression changed.“Another bullet?”Chris sighed.“You ask too many questions.”
“You have too many scars.”Her fingertip carefully traced beside the mark.Chris went still.
Not because it hurt.Because it didn’t.Her touch was gentle.Far too gentle for something that had once involved so much blood.Camila looked from the scar to him.“This one isn’t from the same shooting.”Chris didn’t answer.Her eyes narrowed.“Is it?”
“Camila.”
“How many times have you been shot?”
“Enough.”Her hand stopped.“That’s not a number.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”She stared.Chris knew what she was doing.Cataloging.
The shoulder.The ribs.The back.Now this.Every scar contradicted the ordinary criminal history Roman was supposed to have lived.Camila sat back.
“What exactly is your occupation, Chris Roman?”His smile disappeared.The room went very quiet.Steam drifted between them.Chris stared at her.For one second—one insane second—he nearly told her.
FBI.The word was right there.He imagined saying his real name.Chris Walker.Imagined telling her Roman didn’t exist.That the street racing story was manufactured.That his ability behind the wheel came from federal training.That the scars came from undercover assignments.That every instinct she’d been questioning had an explanation.He imagined not lying anymore.Then he imagined Mateo in handcuffs.The investigation collapsing.
Agents exposed.Camila looking at him and realizing the man she’d allowed into her bed had been investigating her brother from the beginning.Chris looked away.Coward.
Maybe she had been right about him.Camila touched his cheek.His eyes returned to hers.
“Chris?”
“Right now?”Her brow furrowed.“What?”
“You asked what my occupation is.”She held his gaze.“Right now.”Chris covered her hand with his.“Keeping you safe.”Camila stared at him.“That isn’t an occupation.”
“It is tonight.”
“Chris—”
“Can that be enough?”Her expression softened.“For tonight?”He nodded.“For tonight.”
She leaned forward and kissed him.Soft.Chris didn’t hesitate.His hand moved behind her neck and he kissed her back.The exhaustion was still there.So was the pain.But beneath it was something he’d been trying desperately not to name.Need.Not simply for her body.
For her.Her laughter.Her questions.Her stolen sunglasses.Her coffee appearing beside his every morning.Her toothbrush beside his.Her footsteps outside his guesthouse after midnight.Camila pulled back.“You’re thinking again.”
“Apparently I do that.”
“About?”Chris looked at her.“You.”She smiled.“At least you’re getting better at answering questions.”
“Don’t get excited.”She kissed him again.This one lingered.Chris’s hand settled at her waist as she moved closer to the tub.The kiss deepened, warmth and steam surrounding them until the rest of the room seemed to disappear.Camila laughed softly when water splashed over the edge.Chris looked down.Then at her. “You’re making a mess.”
“Your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You pulled me closer.”
“You kissed me.”
“You kissed me back.”Chris smiled.“This argument sounds familiar.”
“It usually ends well.”He laughed.Camila kissed him again.The quiet tenderness slowly became something hotter.Their teasing faded.So did the questions.For a while, there was no FBI.No cartel.No Mateo.No Chris Roman.Just two people who had stopped pretending they could stay away from each other.And when their passion finally carried them beyond conversation, the rest belonged only to them.
Later, the water had cooled.Neither spoke.Chris looked down at her hand resting over one of his scars.She traced it absentmindedly.Thinking.He knew that look now.“What?”Camila glanced up.“You really won’t tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Who you were before you came here.”Chris’s chest tightened.“You know who I was.”
“No.”She shook her head.“I know the story you tell everyone.”That hit hard.Chris didn’t move.Camila continued.“Street racer.”Her finger touched one scar.“Private security.”Another.
“Bad jobs.”Her eyes lifted.“Wrong people.”Chris said nothing.“But none of it explains you.”His heartbeat changed.Camila felt it beneath her hand.Of course she did.She looked down.Then slowly back at him.“There.”Chris’s voice lowered.
“What?”
“Your heart.”He swallowed.“What about it?”“It does that whenever I get close.”Chris forced a smile.“Maybe you make me nervous.”
“Not like that.”Camila turned enough to face him.“You know what’s strange?”
“Everything about this relationship?”She almost smiled.
“You’re terrible at lying when it’s personal.
”Chris’s smile vanished.Camila watched him.
“You can lie about where you learned to drive.”Silence.
“You can lie about your scars.”Silence.“You can tell Mateo whatever you want.”Chris’s eyes hardened slightly.
“But when I ask you something about you…”Her fingers touched his chest.“You don’t lie.
”Chris stared.“You just don’t answer.”That frightened him because she was right.Camila was figuring out the architecture of his deception without knowing what stood behind it.She leaned closer.
“One day I’m going to figure you out, Chris Roman.
”Chris touched her cheek.He wanted to tell her not to.Instead he kissed her forehead.
“One day you’re going to regret asking so many questions.”Camila’s expression softened.
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”Chris almost laughed.Those three words hurt more than the bullet wounds ever had.I know you.No.She knew pieces.Real pieces.Enough pieces that when the truth came, she’d understand exactly how many moments had been genuine.And exactly how many had been lies.Camila settled against him again.Chris held her.His eyes remained open.Watching steam disappear toward the ceiling.She was getting close.Too close.
The scars.The driving.The gun.The fighting.The way he watched exits.The way he identified tails.The way his body reacted to threats before Roman should even recognize them.Sooner or later, Camila was going to put the pieces together.Maybe she wouldn’t guess FBI.But she’d know Chris Roman wasn’t who he claimed to be.Chris looked down at her.She trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms.Trusted him enough to believe he would protect her.And that part, at least, wasn’t a lie.His arms tightened around her.
Camila murmured sleepily:“What?”
“Nothing.”She smiled against him.“Liar.”Chris closed his eyes.This time—he couldn’t even argue.The faucet groaned before the water came, a sputter of cold air followed by a rush that hit the porcelain with more noise than Camila expected.
She turned the hot water handle further, testing the temperature with her fingertips until it burned just enough to mean something.
Steam began to curl upward, fogging the mirror above the sink in uneven patches.Behind her, sitting on the closed toilet lid with his forearms braced on his knees, Chris didn’t move.
He looked like someone had taken him apart and put him back together slightly wrong.
His jaw was swollen on the left side, a deep purple bruise climbing from his cheekbone toward his temple.
His knuckles were split open in two places, dried blood crusted in the lines of his skin.
He hadn’t said a word since walking through the door forty minutes ago.Camila poured bath salts into the rising water.
Lavender and something mineral. The bottle had been a gift from someone, she couldn’t remember who, and she’d never had a reason to use it until now.
“You’re staring,” Chris said, his voice low and rough.
“I’m not staring. I’m assessing.”
“Same thing.”
“what are you doing?”She stood and looked down at him.
His dark eyes were watching her with that particular intensity he had—the one that made her feel like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at, even when he was beaten half to pieces.
“Making sure you actually do it,” she said.He almost smiled.
Almost. The corner of his mouth twitched, then the bruise on his jaw reminded him not to. “Good?” she asked.“Better.”