Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Henry
I woke up to the smell of something heavenly. Buttery. Warm. Sweet.
And for the first time in a while, I’d done it on my own. No gentle fingers nudging my shoulder. No whispered questions from a voice that didn’t belong in a place like this.
Ariana had gotten creative over the course of the past few wake-up calls, asking me questions other than my name.
What was your favorite subject in school?
What was your first dog’s name?
What’s your favorite sport?
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?
If you had to pick a favorite planet, what would it be?
I’d been too tired to care. Or maybe I wanted her to know these things about me.
So I told her my favorite subject in school was history because I liked knowing how empires fell.
Shared that my first dog’s name was Lars, a lazy golden retriever who used to sleep curled against my feet at night.
Informed her my favorite sport was baseball because there was something soothing about the rhythm of it.
I even told her my SEAL team nickname — Spartan. Explained I got it because I was the one who never broke. Never bled. Never begged. Never once considered ringing that bell during training.
Funny how full of shit that turned out to be, especially right now. I’d never felt so damn broken.
So fucking weak.
And I hated it.
I blinked against the dim light, my gaze shifting toward the windows. The shades were drawn, blocking out the setting sun trying to seep in through the corners.
My head still ached, but it was dull now, more from the gash than the skull-splitting pressure that plagued me all night.
I slowly sat up. To my surprise, the room didn’t tilt or blur. My stomach didn’t lurch. And I was only seeing one version of everything instead of three, which felt like progress.
I braced one hand on the couch and rose to my feet, testing my ankle. Pain flared for a second, but simmered down to a bearable throb. Still, I limped.
I heard a flurry of motion from the kitchen, then Ariana appeared, concern painted across her expression.
Her blonde hair was piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, and there wasn’t a single ounce of makeup on her face, but she didn’t need it. She was stunning. Even now with her brows pinched and lips turned into a scowl.
I hated to admit it, but I liked when she looked angry like this. Liked the passion. The fire. It was so different from the woman I observed for months on Victor’s arm. The woman who seemed as plastic and fake as a Barbie doll.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
I straightened, or tried to. “Bathroom.”
“You should’ve called me.” She looped an arm around my waist, helping to steady me.
“I’m feeling better. Not one-hundred percent, but I’m not going to faceplant. I promise.”
Obviously skeptical, she studied me for a long moment, her eyes examining every inch of my face. She must have seen something to back up my assertions since she slowly released me from her hold.
And I hated that I missed her touch.
“Leave the door open,” she stated, taking a small step back.
I arched a brow in question.
“I don’t need you falling and cracking your head open. I’d rather not have to stitch you up again.”
“Is that the only reason?” I smirked. “Or do you get off on watching people take a piss?”
She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Definitely not.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” I called out as I managed to limp into the bathroom and stand in front of the toilet.
Just to be on the safe side, I placed a hand on the wall to support myself while I went about my business.
“Everyone has secrets. Things they don’t think they’d like, but they secretly crave. It’s okay if watching people piss is one of yours.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Henry, but it’s not.”
“Now you’ve got me curious,” I continued, carefully tucking myself back into my briefs.
“About?”
“What you do secretly crave.”
“ I don’t even know that,” I heard her mumble softly as I inched toward the sink, turning on the water and running my hands beneath it.
Her statement gave me pause. Not the substance of it, but the way she said it. Wistful almost.
I was about to ask her what she meant when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.
Blood still clung to the edges of my brow, dried and flaking.
The swelling made my right eye look smaller than the left.
The bandage stretched tight against the wound, the skin beneath it a mixture of black, blue, and purple.
“I should take a look at that,” Ariana’s voice sounded from behind me. “Change the bandage. Make sure it’s healing okay.”
Our eyes met in the mirror. She stood right outside the doorway, her fingers twisted in front of her.
“I can do it,” I said, a little too fast. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’ll be easier and quicker if I do it. You need to stay off your feet.”
She crossed the threshold without waiting for permission and guided me toward the closed toilet lid, motioning for me to sit. I gave in with a reluctant grunt, settling down while she gathered supplies from the cabinet beneath the sink. Alcohol wipes. Gauze. Medical tape.
Then she crouched in front of me and leaned in close. “Hold still.”
My pulse instantly kicked up a notch, and I held my breath.
I wasn’t afraid of pain. Not after everything I’d survived. But I was afraid of the way she touched me like I was someone worth caring about.
I didn’t like it.
Or maybe I liked it too much.
The tape pulled at my skin as she peeled it away, and she muttered a quiet apology. Her fingers smelled like citrus and cinnamon. I couldn’t stop staring at her. At the way her tongue peeked out while she focused. At the tiny pulse fluttering in her neck.
I remained still, praying she couldn’t pick up on the growing bulge in my boxers as I stared at her skin. Imagined darting my tongue out and tasting it. Sinking my teeth into it. Marking her for all to see.
“Swelling’s gone down,” she murmured, pulling away. “Still looks rough, but you’re healing.”
“Good,” I said, my voice pitched higher than normal before I cleared my throat and tried again. “Good.”
Her analytical gaze swept over me for a moment longer than I was comfortable with. “Let me get a bandage back on it,” she said finally. “Then I want to check your ankle.”
The last thing I needed was her hands touching even more parts of my body, but I doubted she’d let me argue. So I remained silent as she pressed a fresh bandage over my wound, doing everything in my power not to gawk at her chest that was practically at eye level.
I imagined burying my face between her breasts, dragging my tongue along her milky skin, taking a nipple in my mouth and biting, seeing if she liked a little pleasure with her pain.
I had a feeling she did. After all, she had traces of finger imprints along her neck. I hated the idea of Victor being the one to know that side of her, which was a ridiculous thought.
Ariana Kane was the fucking enemy.
But she didn’t feel like the enemy right now.
Truth be told, she hadn’t since our first conversation.
“Let’s see this ankle now.” She knelt on the floor and lifted my leg onto her lap. When her fingers skimmed over the swollen joint, it sent a pulse of heat straight up my spine.
And to my cock.
“Still tender?” she asked.
“A bit,” I managed to croak out, discreetly tugging my t-shirt down to cover my erection.
“I’ll get you an ice pack. You should probably keep it elevated, too. Other than that, all you can do is rest and stay off it.”
“Rest,” I scoffed. “I can’t remember the last time I actually rested.”
“Right now, you have no choice but to rest.” She stood and reached for a fresh washcloth, dampening it with warm water. “There’s still some dried blood on your face. Let me clean it off.”
I didn’t object.
I couldn’t.
Not when she leaned in again and dabbed at my skin with slow, tender strokes, each one making me want more of her touch.
“I’ve always wanted a sponge bath,” I teased, trying to cut through the tension that was becoming more and more unbearable the longer I remained in this enclosed space with her.
“That confirms it.”
“What?”
“You’re still concussed,” she replied, carefully dabbing at my brow. “The Henry I’ve gotten to know wouldn’t make jokes about getting a sponge bath. Hell, the Henry I’ve gotten to know wouldn’t make jokes at all.”
She was right.
The Henry I’d let her see was silent. Calculating. Cold.
“There’s a whole side of me you haven’t met yet,” I murmured, my eyes locked on hers. “One I think you’d probably like.”
Her hand stilled on my face.
She didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Didn’t retreat. Just...breathed.
Her gaze dipped to my mouth, lingering there long enough to make my blood stir. Much like it did at the gala when I couldn’t take my eyes off her in that red dress. How it clung to her in a way that should have been criminal.
I leaned even closer, my body seeming to move of its own accord. Like we were two magnets that couldn’t fight their attraction, regardless of how much we wanted to.
And I’d desperately been trying to fight this attraction since I brought her here. But some forces were too strong to resist.
Her hand trembled against my jaw, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in, too. Just the smallest shift. Just enough to feel the warmth of her breath against my lips. I could almost taste them, my mouth salivating at the promise of her kiss.
But then she jumped to her feet. “I should check on dinner,” she blurted out, keeping her gaze averted as she scurried away from me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, blowing out a long breath as I ran a hand over my face.
What the fuck was I thinking? Kissing Ariana Kane wasn’t just a horrible idea. It was the worst thing I could possibly do.
She wasn’t here so I could release some of my pent-up sexual frustration. She was here for one thing and one thing only.
Revenge.
Nothing more.
I needed to remember that before this entire situation blew up in my face.