Chapter 19 #2
I guess I had hoped that once she got here, in this space where we have shared more than one great night together, that she might allow her guard to drop, even just a little bit. That seems to be wishful thinking.
But this is untenable.
It isn’t good for her or her recovery, and that’s all I want.
I move toward her, and she eyes me warily but stops pacing. When I finally reach her, I take her face in my hands and tip it up, risking the full force of her fury this close. “Please, let me help you relax.”
She swallows thickly, her pupils dilating slightly. “How?”
I know exactly where her mind is going, but there’s no way that’s happening when she’s recovering from a brain injury and all the other damage that was done to her body…even if I might want it to.
“I’m going to draw you a bath.”
Her sharp laughter echoes through the loft, the sound so unfamiliar from the woman who tries so damn hard to be so damn tough every moment of her life. “A bath?”
“I have an old claw-foot tub in the bathroom.”
She nods slowly, the motion shifting her smooth skin across my fingertips in a way that makes me never want to take my hands off her. “I know. I’ve seen it.”
“I’ve never used it.”
One of her eyebrows wings up. “Really?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I would fit.”
She grins, the first real sign of the ice cracking since we left the hospital. “You definitely wouldn’t.”
It may be a huge mistake to push right now, but I can’t help myself. I dip my head and risk drifting my lips across hers tentatively. “So…you’ll be the first one. You can christen it. And the hot water will help with all your sore muscles.”
She relaxes slightly against me, and I kiss her again, keeping it slow and gentle. An apology for what I have to put her through written in every brush of our lips. When I pull away, I can see that some of her anger has dissipated.
Her shoulders fall. “Okay, fine.”
I grin and drop a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to go grab your bags. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”
She wanders over to the bed as I hustle down the stairs and snag her bags, and by the time I’m back up in the loft, she’s kicked off her shoes and has made her way into the bathroom.
I set her bags down near my dresser and rifle through them to see what her mom put in them that might be useful. When my hand finds the small bottle of bubble bath in with the bathroom items, I release a relieved breath.
Thank you, Caroline.
In the bathroom, Bishop stands at the sink, staring into the mirror, looking at the bruise along her collar bone from when she hit the pavement.
I step up behind her and trail my fingers over it lightly. “Does it hurt?”
She meets my eyes in the mirror. “Not really.”
“Liar.” I can see the way she fights a wince every time she moves that arm. It’s one of the reasons I suggested she take a bath in the first place. “Let’s see what we can do to make you feel better.”
Bishop might not admit it, but she needs this right now.
She needs someone to force her mind away from the things that are going to cause her pain. And it might not be a lot, but it’s all I can offer her right now that could make being locked out from the investigation bearable, even if only for an hour.
* * *
BISHOP
As much as I hate to admit that Gage was right, the hot water feels incredible.
All my tight, sore muscles soak up the heat, slowly relaxing away some of the tension and pain I’ve been carrying. And while this tub might not be deep or long enough for Gage to fit into it, it’s absolutely perfect for me. Almost as if it was built specifically for this moment in time.
I sink even lower into it until nothing but my head and hair piled on top of it rises above the steaming water and bubbles.
Damn bubbles.
When he pulled out that bottle and said that Mom had packed it, I didn’t believe him at first, but it certainly wasn’t something he would have had just lying around.
The fact that she snuck it into my bag raises far too many questions because it’s almost as if she had anticipated this moment without ever having been in Gage’s place.
We are going to have to talk next time I see her…
About a lot of things.
Including the man who reappears at the open bathroom door with a mug in his hand and a sheepish smile on his face. “I thought maybe you’d like some tea while you have your bath.”
I raise a brow at him. “Tea? What makes you think I drink tea and not coffee?”
He smirks and leans against the door jamb, looking far too sexy in a pair of gray sweatpants and white T-shirt that’s stretched tightly across his chest and biceps and shows off so much of his ink. “My conversation with your cousin, who owns a coffee shop.”
Apparently, I need to have a conversation with Angelina, too, when I’m released from Gage Newhart’s little loft prison.
I scowl at him. “Is that what you’ve been doing the last couple days? Going around and talking to everyone in the family to learn all these secrets about me so you can utilize them against me to get under my skin while I’m here?”
He offers a nonchalant shrug, but the corners of his lips twitch as he fights his grin. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted you to be comfortable.”
Dammit.
That’s actually really sweet and thoughtful.
But Gage always has been.
He may love to push my buttons and get me riled up, but he’s never been vindictive or mean or ever said anything that wasn’t absolutely true—even if I didn’t want to hear it.
It makes it very hard to stay mad at my jailer.
He walks in on bare feet that shouldn’t be so sexy and kneels next to the tub, holding out the mug to me. I reach my arm up out of the water, bubbles coating my skin and sliding down it as I take the drink from him and bring it to my lips.
Hell, he even got this right…
Right brand.
One spoonful of honey.
Extra hot.
Exactly the way I like it.
Damn you, Ang.
Combined with the warmth of the water, the hot liquid coating my throat and settling in my stomach helps soothe away even more of the aches.
It’s exactly what I needed because I really don’t want to take any of the pain medication Aunt Nora prescribed.
That shit only clouds my head and my judgement.
And while everyone might be trying to keep me from working, keep me in the dark about the investigation into the explosion, that doesn’t mean I won’t be doing my best to try to get that information. Which means I need a clear head.
Hard enough to do around Gage without narcotics thrown into the mix.
I hand the mug back to him, and he turns and drops onto his ass on the old tile, leaning back against the edge of the tub.
“You’re just going to sit there?”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “There isn’t anywhere for you to put the mug.”
“So, you’re going to sit there while I take my bath and hold it…”
“Yep.” He settles in, facing away from the tub, toward the small vanity and sink. His hand tightens around the mug almost protectively. “I promise I’ll keep my eyes directed at the wall.”
Grinning at the chivalry, I reach up and playfully smack the back of his head, making water and bubbles trickle off my hand down his neck and onto his shirt. “Like you haven’t seen it all before.”
He chuckles, the sound somehow so sexual that it makes me shift restlessly in the water. “True, but I do want to give you privacy, if that’s what you want. I can leave this on the floor, but you’d have to lean down and grab it every time and”—he shrugs again—“I just think this might be easier.”
“All right.”
I don’t want to admit that it was kind of lonely in here when he was gone, or that sitting in the water with nothing else to keep my mind occupied, I kept replaying the explosion over and over in my head.
The days, hours, and minutes leading up to it…
What I could have done differently…
What I missed and didn’t see…
Each moment of the day it happened…
It’s the same mental video that keeps playing in my head over and over again, and it has since I woke in that hospital. At first, the visuals were fragmented. But over the course of the last few days, things have become clearer.
Everything but who did it and why.
That’s what plagues me as much as my own guilt over missing something—the not knowing.
Satriano’s motivations have shifted over the years, from revenge, to an almost jealousy and desire to manipulate us like puppets on strings. It borders on obsession and turns everything he does into another mystery to solve.
I didn’t really think it would be any different here, that the memories or questions would somehow go away with a change of scenery, but it’s starting to get harder and harder to pretend I’m unaffected by the constant replayed trauma.
A little company to distract from that could be a good thing, even if the man sitting beside this tub is just as complicated for me as the situation outside this loft is.
I release a sigh and sink back down into the water.
“How’re you feeling?”
His voice is so soft, I’m almost not sure I heard him right—or maybe I’m just afraid I did.
There’s a tenderness to it, a heavy weight of concern that goes well beyond a man who is babysitting his employer’s daughter.
That brings a new ache to my chest that wasn’t there only a few minutes ago.
The same one I felt when I found out he hadn’t left my side at the hospital.
What the hell are you doing with this man, Bishop?
I’d love to blame the confusion regarding that topic on my concussion and the fact that my brain still feels a little scrambled, but that would be a lie.
I’ve been a mess where Gage is concerned since the first time I saw him.
His question is so loaded, but I will pretend he only means physically since climbing into this tub.
“Better, thank you.”
He toys with the handle of the mug while I relax for a few moments, then hands it back toward me without looking—just as he promised.