He reached out, wrapping his arm around her waist and turning her so that she was facing away from him, wedged between his legs. She squeaked as he adjusted their positions, but she didn’t fight him. “Well, it isn’t as though I have a vast array of experience.”
She was determined to fight him. Every step of the way. If he didn’t enjoy it so much, it might irritate him.
“You don’t want a vast array of experience,” he said, softening his tone. “You said yourself you are not prepared for any more.”
She shifted, the round curve of her butt brushing against his arousal. “I said not right then.”
“You are the most difficult creature.”
She turned to look over her shoulder. “So are you. You are so determined to have your way.”
He lifted his hand out of the water and caught her chin. “This is not about having my way. I am trying. For my brother, for my country. You have not been honest with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me you had accepted this.”
“I never said that.”
“Scoot forward, and lay your head back.”
“Why?”
“Why do you insist on arguing with everything I say?”
She had no response to that. Instead, she complied. He held her tightly as she lowered her head backward, her dark hair slipping beneath the water, fanning out around her. His eyes were drawn to the pale, rounded curves of her breasts, visible just above the surface of the water. In fact, the new pose brought all of her body much closer to the surface, revealing each curve, dip and hollow. But he had promised he wouldn’t touch. Not in that way. So he didn’t. Instead, he helped her tip her head back farther, careful to keep the water out of her face.
Once her hair was wet, he guided her back up between his thighs, reaching for one of the cut-glass bottles that was resting on the edge of the tub. He tipped it to the side, putting a bit in his hand before replacing it, and turned his focus back to her. He buried his fingers in the dark, silky locks.
“What are you doing?”
“Washing your hair.”
He felt her shoulders go rigid. “Why?”
“You are far too full of questions.”
“And you are full of questionable behavior.”
“Has anyone ever taken care of you, Zara?”
He felt her frame shrink. “I never wanted for food. Or shelter. I was quite adequately taken care of.”
“No. That isn’t what I meant. Who cared for you? Did anyone do anything beyond simply ensuring that you would not die?”
“What else is there?”
He continued working the shampoo through her hair. “There is this.”
“Clean hair won’t keep me alive.” She sounded subdued now, even though she was still challenging him.
“Is being kept alive enough?” He did not let the question go deep enough that he might be tempted to answer it himself. For himself.
“It has served me well so far.”
“But you want more. Which is why you are pushing back so hard on the engagement.”
“Or perhaps I simply don’t like you. Maybe it isn’t the marriage. Maybe it’s you.”
He leaned in, scraping his teeth over the top of her shoulder. “You like me well enough. At least, in the most important way I can think of where marriage is concerned.”
He felt her shiver beneath his touch. “Sex isn’t everything.”
“Says the near virgin. Sex is quite a few things. Sex is a wonderful source of release. A way to make yourself feel close with someone when you aren’t truly close with anyone. And a wonderful way to destroy relationships and family ties.” This last part came out more bitter than he’d intended.
“You speak from experience.”
“Far too much experience.”
“I am curious, Andres.” She slithered out of his hold, turning and backing up against the opposite side of the tub. “Why did you do it? Why did you sleep with Kairos’s fiancée when you could have had any woman you wanted?” She tilted her head to the side. “Did you love her?”
“No,” he said, “I did not love her. I did not even know her, or like her especially.”