“I know. It’s probably a result of the way my warlock and werewolf sides combined in me. Often when two different paranormal species come together, the result is something brand new.”
“This is both fascinating and embarrassing. What sorts of ridiculous things have I been thinking while we’ve been together?”
“I can’t really read you. Like most werewolves, it comes across as a nonverbal, chaotic jumble, and almost never just a clear thought.”
He grinned and muttered, “Well, thank god for that.”
I grinned, too. “If I’d been able to read your thoughts, what would I have discovered?”
“That I’m horribly sappy and not nearly as invulnerable as I like to pretend I am.”
He went back to unbuttoning my shirt, and when he pulled it off me, I said, “So, we’re getting naked now? Is that the plan?”
“Your jeans are soaked and you’re shivering, so I’m planning to warm you up. Any objections?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Good.”
We hung my wet clothes on a chair in front of the fire, and he took my hand and led me to the adjoining bathroom. After he turned off the water, he gestured at the tub and said, “Hop in.”
“Will you be joining me?”
“Actually, I’m going to bathe you.”
I climbed into the tub and told him, “Just so you know, I’m really not used to stuff like this. You may want to pace yourself.”
All he said to that was, “It’s time you learn to be cared for.”
Elias did exactly what he said he was going to, after first stripping down to just a pair of black briefs. He sat on the edge of the tub and washed me gently with a soft cloth and a bar of soap that smelled faintly of lemons. Then he shampooed and rinsed my hair. Meanwhile, I did something I usually found next to impossible—I relaxed and surrendered control.
I’d never expected us to be so comfortable around each other. I could only assume that familiarity was the result of sharing a bond for a century. But whatever the reason, it was pretty wonderful.
When the water started to cool, Elias pulled the plug, then held up a big towel for me. When I stepped into it, he wrapped his arms around me and dried me off before taking my hand and leading me to the bed.
The fire had warmed the room enough for us to stretch out on top of the covers. I trailed my fingers across his collar bone, then down his arm as I murmured, “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
“Ask me anything.”
He stretched out on his side and propped his head up with his hand, and I met his gaze as I asked, “How are you making a living these days?”
His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Are you asking if I’m still a criminal? That was a real sticking point with you last time.”
“Yes. That’s what I’m asking.”
“I’m a nearly two-hundred-year-old part werewolf. What am I going to do, get a job in corporate America, then pretend to retire when they think I’m sixty-five, all while never appearing to age a day?”
“Well, no. But there are plenty of ways to earn money that aren’t illegal.”
“I’ve never been a part of mainstream society, so why should I obey their laws? In case you’re concerned though, the ways I choose to make a living don’t hurt anyone.”
I rolled onto my side facing him, with one leg crossed over my junk, because I did have a shred of modesty. “There’s no such thing as a victimless crime,” I said.
“Well, okay, there are victims. I steal from the obscenely rich. But they certainly don’t suffer for it, and I don’t feel remotely guilty.”
“So, you’re basically Robin Hood.”
“Hardly. I do make generous, anonymous donations to charity, but I’ve also kept plenty for myself. If you stay with me, you’ll never want for anything. I made sure of it.”
I gestured around us and asked, “Do you also do a bit of loan-sharking?”
“This island wasn’t given to me to pay off a loan, it was to settle a poker debt. It used to belong to a sleazy tech billionaire, who bought it on a whim. Cocky bastard thought he could bluff while I was staring him down with a royal flush. And no, I didn’t cheat to win, in case you’re wondering. I didn’t have to.” He held my gaze as he asked, “Do you hate the fact that I occasionally break the law?”
“I probably should, but no, not really. I guess my moral compass is broken.”
“Or maybe you’ve just been alive long enough by now to realize the world and its rules aren’t black and white.”
“Maybe.”
He asked, “What about you? What do you do for a living?”
“I restore classic cars.”
“Nice. How’d you get into that line of work?”
“I’ve always been a gearhead. I started building hotrods and street racing in the 1960s and 70s. Now I’m restoring those same makes and models, but they’re insanely expensive collector items.”