28. Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Iset the key on the table and crossed the apartment, already imagining cool water washing the sweat, blood, and mountain dirt off my skin.
Had the partially open door been an invitation, or had it just slipped open?
I nudged the door, and it swung wide.
Isabella stood beneath the spray, washing her hair, and for a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
Jesus Christ and all his angels.
I braced one forearm against the doorframe, completely enthralled.
Her head tipped back as both hands worked through the heavy fall of dark hair cascading almost to her waist. Water streamed over her face and along the graceful line of her throat.
Her back arched slightly into the cool spray, one knee bent.
The pose lifted her breasts, the stiff peaks of her nipples catching the light.
Her warm, golden-brown skin shimmered as water slipped over it, making every inch of her look impossibly touchable.
I watched as rivulets traced her curves, imagining my tongue trailing the same paths.
Beautiful didn’t come close.
I’d seen stunning women all my adult life. Xyst was full of them every night—models, actresses, women dressed by designers. Women who knew exactly how pretty they were and how to use it.
None of them had ever stopped me cold.
Isabella did it without even knowing I was there.
A goddess in a church rectory.
When she’d knelt between my knees in that yellow dress, barefoot on a dungeon floor after cleaning blood from my face, I remembered thinking she was too pretty for that place.
Now I understood I’d barely seen her at all.
The dungeon had wrapped everything in ugliness. Even Isabella had carried some of it on her skin because there had been no escaping what surrounded us.
Here, with all that ugliness washing away, she looked like the delicate flower Ciro’s world should’ve crushed long ago.
Somehow, it hadn’t.
She was still sweet. Still kind enough to bring water to a stranger her father had ordered everyone to leave thirsty.
Still soft enough to cry for the man she’d only just learned was her father.
Still true enough to herself to laugh, tease me, blush when I called her pretty, and stand beneath a shower taking quiet pleasure in something as simple as being clean.
And fuck me, I wanted to give her every beautiful thing she’d never had.
Not because she needed saving, but because she deserved to be spoiled rotten.
Princess.
The word had sounded almost absurd when she first told me who her mother was.
Looking at her now, it didn’t.
If Isabella let me, I would put her on a fucking pedestal and make sure she never wanted for anything again.
Clothes, books, travel, some ridiculous apartment overlooking whatever part of Manhattan she decided she loved most. I’d give her every opportunity, every indulgence, every exquisite thing that made those pale blue eyes light up.
I’d worship the goddess when she wanted worshipping and spoil the princess until she forgot there had ever been another way to live.
And if she ever wanted a dangerous man on his knees in front of her, I’d go there willingly.
That realization should’ve bothered me.
No one forced Lachlan Byrnes to kneel.
But for her, I already had.
Isabella leaned forward and reached for the bar of soap resting on a small stool in the corner.
The movement broke whatever holy spell I’d been standing under and replaced it with something considerably less suitable for a church.
She turned the soap between her palms beneath the water until white lather coated her hands. Then she set the bar down and swept one hand over the opposite shoulder, working the foam slowly down her arm before returning to the elegant line of her neck.
She switched hands and repeated the motion on the other side.
There was nothing provocative about what she was doing.
That was what made it so fucking provocative.
She was simply washing herself, and I couldn’t look away.
Her palms moved over her shoulders and down her arms again, wiping away the last traces of the mountain, the compound, the violence.
Then she worked the soap between her hands again.
This time, both palms moved to her breasts.
My mouth went dry.
She cupped one, washing slowly beneath the heavy curve before her hand swept upward. Her palm passed over the nipple, leaving a trail of white foam against wet brown skin. Then she did the same to the other.
My imagination immediately replaced her hands with mine.
I swallowed hard.
I wanted to be the one bathing her.
Wanted my palms sliding over every inch of that soap-slick skin while she stood beneath the water and let me take care of her.
I wanted to feel the weight of those breasts in my hands, my thumbs moving over those stiff little nipples until she made the sounds I’d already learned could wreck my self-control.
The awe hadn’t disappeared.
It had simply acquired a hard-on.
My cock pressed painfully against my jeans.
Isabella turned slightly beneath the spray and swept one hand over her stomach, then around the generous curve of her ass.
Fuck.
Her backside was every bit as perfect as I’d imagined while she’d been wrapped in my arms on the mountain.
Round. Full. Perfectly made to fill my hands when I finally got hold of her properly.
Her soapy palm moved over one cheek and then the other, fingers sliding briefly between them as she washed.
A low grunt escaped me.
I froze.
Isabella didn’t turn.
Maybe the shower had covered it.
Any decent man would’ve backed away and given her privacy.
Apparently, torture had burned the last of the decency out of me.
Or maybe I’d never had enough to begin with.
Either way, I stayed exactly where I was, forearm still braced against the doorway, watching a naked woman bathe in the house of God and knowing damn well I was going to Hell with a smile on my face.
She picked up the soap again and worked it between her palms.
Then one knee eased outward.
My entire body went still.
Her hand slipped between her thighs.
Sweet fucking Jesus.
She cupped herself to wash, fingers moving through the dark curls between her legs before sliding carefully through the folds beneath them.
My cock went from hard to fucking painful.
Her fingers moved again, circling through the soap and water between her folds.
I imagined dropping to my knees in front of her.
Imagined replacing those fingers with my tongue.
Imagined holding her thighs open while she leaned back against that yellow wall and learned exactly what a man on his knees could do for his goddess.
Another sound rumbled low in my throat before I could stop it.
This time, Isabella chuckled.
My attention snapped to her face.
She had turned just enough to look at me over her shoulder, amusement dancing in those pale blue eyes.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch me bathe?”
For a moment, I said nothing.
Some long-buried Catholic instinct suggested fucking a woman in the church might be pushing my already questionable relationship with the Almighty.
And if I was damned anyway, I could think of far worse reasons than corrupting my sweet little Mouse in all the best ways.
Isabella’s mouth twitched.
“All right.” Amusement warmed her voice. “If you’re not interested, perhaps you should close the door. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Not interested?
That snapped me out of it.
“You remember what I told you on the mountain, Mouse?”
Her smile went a little shy just enough to tell me she remembered perfectly.
“About the next time I kissed you?”
Color warmed her cheeks.
“Aye. That.” I stepped fully into the bathroom. “I told you I wasn’t stopping because I suddenly decided to be noble.”
Her eyes followed me.
“I meant every fucking word.”
I shrugged out of the donated T-shirt, tugged off my boots and socks, then straightened and unfastened my belt. I yanked it free of the loops and let it drop, the buckle clattering onto the tile beside my boots. I shoved my jeans and underwear down together and stepped out of them.
Isabella’s gaze dropped and stayed there.
That’s my girl.
“You had your warning, Mouse.”
I closed the distance between us in two strides and pinned her against the wall with my body. One hand landed on the cinderblock wall beside her head while the other closed around her hip and pulled her against me, nothing between us but my throbbing cock.
Her lips parted, and her eyes searched my face.
“You are fucking gorgeous.”
The words came out rougher than I intended.
I tightened my hand around her hip.
“I don’t give a damn that we’re in a house of God, in the middle of nowhere, with cartel men looking for us. I’ve spent days wanting you, and I’m done pretending I can turn it off because the timing isn’t convenient.”
Her breath caught.
“I’ll be gentle with you, Mouse.” I lowered my mouth until it was barely above hers. “But don’t mistake gentle for restrained. I want every one of those pretty little sounds you make.”
Her pupils blew wide.
“And before I’m finished with you, I want to hear you scream my name.”
The cool water cascading over my side did nothing to reduce the heat between us.
My hand glided up the curve of her waist and closed around her breast. I brushed my thumb over her nipple, and a soft whine slipped from her throat. There was one of those pretty sounds I’d promised myself.
“You have no idea what you do to me, do you, Mouse? You take my breath away.”
I moved my other hand from the wall and twisted it into her wet hair, pulling her mouth to mine.
She opened for me immediately.
Our tongues tangled and teased, and something inside me shifted so violently it threatened to take my knees out from under me.
I’d kissed plenty of women.
I’d never been kissed like this.
Like there was nowhere else in the world she wanted to be.
My hands moved to her face, cupping her cheeks as I devoured her mouth.
The Greeks believed three goddesses—the Fates—spun the thread of every life. I’d never believed mine was being drawn toward another person by anything more powerful than chance. Until Isabella.
But how the hell else did I explain her?