Gently, he drew her into the bathroom, her favorite room in the apartment. The previous owners had knocked out a wall, turned the small second bedroom into a closet, and used part of that space to make room for a steam shower and an oversize whirlpool tub. The day they'd moved in, Jane had told him this bathroom was a little slice of heaven.
He turned the water on, cranking up the heat the way he knew she liked it, then he stood her on the dense, white rug that filled most of the space.
"Are you tending me?" Her voice was as teasing as her expression, and it was all he could do not to gather her close and sigh with contentment. Yes, he knew she was still aching and sore. No, they didn't know who her attacker was. Yes, her birth father was locked in a cell, and Dallas was the one keeping him there.
But none of that mattered. Not then. All he cared about--all he could hold in his head--was Jane. That she was alive. That she was his.
That she'd come back to him.
"Damn right I'm tending you. Now put your hands up," he added with mock sternness.
She complied, and he peeled off her scrub top, delighted to find that she wore nothing beneath it. Her breasts were perfect, round and firm, and as he watched, her nipples tightened and her areolae puckered. He wanted to roll her nipples between his fingers. He wanted to taste her breasts and feel her arch back and moan, her tits hard and hot in his hands as he licked and sucked, taking her so far that she came in his arms simply from the pressure of the desire building between her legs.
Not now. Not yet.
Instead, he met her eyes. Then he lowered his gaze to her chest, watching it rise and fall as her desire heightened to match his. Her pulse quickened in her throat, another spot that he wanted to lick and tease.
Slowly, he reached for the drawstring of her pants. His fingers brushed her abdomen as he did, the touch so light it was almost negligible. It was enough, though, and he felt the shock of that connection all the way down to his cock. He was rock hard and straining against his jeans. And when her pants slid over her hips to the floor--when she stood before him completely naked--he had to fight the battle of his life not to step forward, slide his hand between her thighs, and feel the creamy heat of her arousal.
Instead, he simply stood and stared and wanted, his gaze caressing her. Reviewing every curve, every nuance. He knew her body as well as he knew his own, and the bruises he saw on her thighs and hips started a slow burn inside him.
He was going to kill whoever did this. No doubt. No question.
"Dallas."
Her voice drew him back.
"I'm okay. I'm safe, and I'm here, and I don't want to think about it."
Reluctantly, he nodded. He should have known she'd read his mind.
"Really," she urged, then grinned mischievously. "Need me to prove it?" As she spoke, she slid her palm down over her ribs, her belly, then between her thighs. She made a whimpering noise, and he almost exploded right then.
"Oh, no you don't."
She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "No? But it feels so good. Are you going to make me a better offer?"
"Damn right," he said, then scooped her off her feet, shocking her into laughter.
Christ, but he wanted to take her. He wanted to claim her like a fucking caveman. Wanted to lose himself inside her and thrust hard and deep until she cried out his name. Until she drew blood with her fingernails, marking him as belonging to her.
He wanted wild heat and violent passion. He wanted to feel everything there was to feel, and then take it up tenfold from that.
He wanted all of that and more--but right now he couldn't have it. Because what he wanted even more was to care for her. To push his own needs aside and tend to her. He'd give her what she wanted, absolutely. But not in the way she expected.
Careful not to press too hard on her various bruises, he gently deposited her in the half-full tub. Then he opened the bottle of bubble bath she'd unpacked first thing, and added two capfuls. The smell of lavender infused the room, and she breathed in deep, then sighed. "You joining me in here?"
"I'm not," he said, then chuckled at her surprised expression. "Now lean back, close your eyes, and let me take care of you."
She sat back, but she didn't shut her eyes. Instead, she reached out for him, twining her bubble-clad fingers with his as she looked so deep into his eyes it seemed as if she'd crawled into his soul. "You've always taken care of me."
Her voice was a whisper, low and intense. It rumbled through him, pushing away the last bits of doubt, the lingering fear that she hadn't fully come back to him.
"I have," he said, the simple words belying the way his heart swelled in his chest. "And I always will."
"Oh, god, Dallas, yes." I'm lean
ing back against a bath pillow, my mind drifting from the scent of lavender even as my senses fire from the temptation of his hands on my heated body.