I don’t overthink what that means. I just enjoy the fact I’m not having a panic attack right now.
Kratos exhales deeply as he sinks back against the tub. His massive arms drape over the sides as his eyes close. Meanwhile, I sit there trying to work out why the hell I’ll eagerly say yes to being chased through the dark and fucked brutally, but don’t have the courage to simply sit in my husband’s lap in the bath.
“I don’t think I’ve used this tub once since I installed it,” he rumbles quietly in the stillness of the bathroom.
“What, like it’s not part of your games?”
He opens his eyes, arching a brow at me. “My games?”
“You know,” I shrug casually, trying to play it cool. “When you bring girls home.”
Okay, yes. It’s been occupying a fair amount of real estate in my head since I walked in here. I mean, he’s not just ridiculously hot. And rich, and a member of a hugely powerful crime family. He also has to live in a gorgeous brownstone, in a quiet and super cool artsy neighborhood, that he’s fixing up himself?
I mean, is there a girl equivalent to “shwing” from Wayne’s World?
When he doesn’t immediately respond, my mind goes into overdrive. Of course. I start imagining the hordes of girls from clubs and late-night bars that he charms over here, to show them the tub he’s installed. Or his chef’s kitchen, so he can cook them God-knows-what.
A piping hot batch of dropped panties, most likely.
I’m still simmering, my teeth gritted as I stare blankly at the wall, when he clears his throat.
“I’m, ah, not in the habit of bringing women to my home,” he growls quietly.
My heart skips.
“When you say not in the habit…”
“You’re the first woman I’m not related to who’s been here,” he grunts. When I glance back at him, there’s a smug smirk on his face. “Happy?”
I shrug nonchalantly. Inside, I’m screaming like a freaking cheerleader and jumping up and down with pompoms.
“I mean, technically, we are related now.”
“Well, there goes my erection.”
I giggle loudly as he grins at me.
“Turn around.”
I blush, feeling heat course through me.
“Why?”
Kratos’ eyes pierce into mine.
“Just do it.”
I suck on my lip.
“Okay.”
My skin tingles, and a needy throb begins to pulse in my core as I turn myself around, facing the wall. I can hear him moving behind me, and my imagination goes into X-rated overdrive because of course it does.
“What are you scheming at back—”
In one black, horrifying second, I’m plunged into sheer, drowning panic.
Water pours over my head, raking over the nerve endings in my skin like napalm claws. My vision goes dark, and my throat closes up like it’s being squeezed. My lungs burn and my breath hitches as I spasm, my legs and arms jerking and flailing in random directions before suddenly, it’s like I’m detonating.
In sheer terror, I explode up and stumble blindly out of the tub. My feet slip on the wet, sudsy floor, and I cry out as I go sprawling naked and shivering onto the tiles.
I struggle to get to my feet, kicking away from the tub and yanking a towel down from the rack behind me. Kratos’ face caves in concern. He goes to lurch out of the tub.
“Stay there!” I scream, finally scrambling to my feet. I wrap the towel tight around myself, hunching as if to better hide my nakedness.
“Bianca—”
“I’m fine,” I shudder, shaking as I turn to suck in a breath of air.
“Fuck. I was just going to wash your—”
“I said I’m fine.”
The bathroom goes still. With my back to him, my eyes squeeze shut.
I should tell him. I mean I really should, if only to make sure he doesn’t think I’m a lunatic. But sharing that part of me with him is like working up the courage to crawl into his lap, or to ask him to join me in the tub in the first place.
In the absence of darkness, masks, and danger, apparently, I have no spine.
