A bath

*Calliope*
Zac offers to have a servant prepare a bath for me. Feeling sweaty and sticky, I appreciate the opportunity to wash the salt from my skin and slip on a clean nightdress.

Between my bedchamber and the next is a changing room. It is there that the copper tub is filled with warm water. I am grateful to remove the clinging cloth from my body and sink down into the comforting scented bath. I expect the serving girl to stay with me, but instead she leaves. I welcome the solitude. I lean my head back, partially lowering my eyelids, and watch the candle flames chasing the shadows around the room.

I know the nightmares hover nearby like thieves, keeping watch, waiting for the right moment to strike. I have gotten into the habit of sleeping in short bursts several moments here, a few more there. Zane's night schedule in the beginning of waking every couple of hours for a feeding has helped. But he is settling into sleeping for longer periods of time. I am usually able to rouse myself before the dreams take hold. But as I had told Zac, tonight the wine had taken me under, to a place where my demons reign. They are a strange mixture of my time in the hospital and what happened the night Zac had saved me from the abuse of three men. They have become interwoven somehow, but I won’t tell him about my attackers. Don’t want him to remember their ugliness, their debauchery.

Besides, they were nothing beyond pitiful specimens of men. The good men dying haunts me the most. Husbands who will never return to their wives, young men who may not yet have had the opportunity to marry. Perhaps they had sweethearts to whom they will not return. All I had been able to do was comfort them and then weep for them. And so they haunt me, because I had failed them.

I wonder if I will ever again be able to sleep peacefully through the entire night.

The door clicks. The maid is no doubt returning to assist me. “I'm sorry, I’m not yet ready to get out," I say, reaching for the soap.

“That's all right," Zac says. “I’m in no hurry."

I jerk around, the water splashing around me and over the edge of the tub. I grab onto it, ducking down as far as I am able to and still see him. He has put on a billowy shirt but has bothered to do up only half the buttons. I have seen his chest before. Washed it. Trailed my fingers over the scars. Still, only partially revealed seems so much more intimate. Wicked even, as though he is taunting me and teasing me.

“What are you doing in here?" I had planned for the words to come out forcefully, demanding. Instead, to my utter mortification, I am breathless. I can’t deny that I have often imagined him attempting to seduce me while I attempt to resist, until eventually I succumb to all the naughtiness he offers.

“I have warmed some brandy for you." He says softly.

It is only then that I manage to drag my gaze from the enticing view of his chest to the snifter he holds in his hand. I watch with increasing alarm as he drags a small stool over, sits on it, and extends the snifter toward me. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?" I hiss in alarm.

“Distracting you.” He smiles.

I know my eyes pop. This is ludicrous. “Are you mad?"

He leans forward, causing me to shrink back, only to realize I am no doubt giving him a clearer view, then return to the side so I am at least partially covered. How best to hide from him? He has me at a disadvantage. It is infuriating.

“Why the modesty, Callie? We've been together.” He points out.

“It’s been over a year. And it was only one night.” I say desperately.

He holds out the glass. “Take the brandy. "

If it would make him leave.

I snatch it from him. He does little more than appear amused.

“Drink it," He says. “You'll feel better."

“I doubt it." Still, I do take a gulp. It burns the back of my throat and my nostrils. It stings my eyes.

“I can’t see into it, you know,” He says lazily.

My head snaps up. “Pardon?”

He nods toward the tub. “From this angle, I can’t see into it. You're well hidden. So relax, enjoy your bath.”

“Do you intend to remain?" I ask.

“What were you thinking about before I arrived?" He just asks.

I huff. “Can you not give a straight answer to one of my questions?”

“Yes, I can. Yes, I intend to remain. Now you answer mine.” He says.

I take another taste of the brandy, savoring it a bit longer. “The nightmare."

“Which is what I suspected. Which is why I’m here. Damsels in distress are my forte." He smiles softly.

I can’t deny the truth of that. It is what had prompted our night together. “Why don't you leave and go sit on the couch in there? I’ll wash up quickly and join you."

“I’d rather watch you bathe." He says softly.

“You're a pervert." I growl.

He laughs, a deep baritone richness echoing through the room. I am not certain I have ever heard a laugh such as that coming from him, not even in the hospital.

“Hardly,” He finally says, catching his breath, grinning with enjoyment. “I appreciate the nakedness of a woman”

“I thought you couldn’t see me.” I point out.

He grins again. “I can’t, but I can imagine.”

“You're infuriating." I huff.

“Distracting.” He raises an eyebrow.

I start to set the snifter aside when it dawns on me “You came in here without your cane.”

“And to your bedside without it as well.” He rubs his hand down the length of his thigh, and I imagine it running along mine. Silly girl. He barely noticed me back in the hospital. Why would he desire me now? “I heard you scream and rushed out without thought. Perhaps I've not needed it since that fragment was removed, but it was familiar and so I clung to it."

“You're healing well then.” I say happily.

“My flesh, yes, my mind …." He gives me a sardonic grin. “Let’s not go there, shall we?"

Nodding, I set the snifter aside and search for the soap that had plopped into the water with his arrival. At last I locate it, and using a cloth, begging to wash. He doesn’t speak, simply watches me. To his credit, he never dips his gaze below my chin. To my discredit, I am sorely disappointed that he is not more curious.

“Do you ride?" He asks.

I peer over at him. “Once. It's been a while."

“Perhaps we'll give it a go in a few more days. It’s my second-favorite pleasure.” His eyes dare me to ask what the first is. But I know. Based on the flush suddenly warming my skin, I suspect he knows I know.

“Gambling is next,” He continues. “Then drinking g. What is your favorite pleasure?"

“As you didn't tell me your favorite, but merely your second, third, and forth … I should do the same.” I see in his eyes that I shouldn’t have taunted him as I have, so I answer quickly, “Reading, attending concerts, and strawberries."

He gives me a decidedly wicked grin. “I know your first pleasure.”

Kissing you, being held by you, inhaling your spicy scent, touching your …

“Zane,” He says.

“Yes, of course. You’re quite right. How very clever you are.” I scrub harder, hoping to cover my blush. Zane is a pleasure, but so much more that he doesn’t signify in this conversation. I would never rank him because he will always be above everything.

His dark chuckle reverberates around me. “Truly, Callie, you prefer strawberries to a kiss? How many others have kissed you?”

My body grows so hot that I am surprised the water doesn’t begin to boil. “Only you."

The words comes out on a whisper of shame. Why is he doing this? Tormenting me? To distract me? He is doing that easily enough by just sitting there. He doesn’t need to make me think about his mouth moving over mine.

“Obviously, I did not give you my best, for if I had, surely it would have fallen between reading and concerts." He says.

“You mock me." I sigh.

He raises a brow. “And you lie.”

“No, I’ve never lied to you." I hold his gaze with a steadfastness that ensures he will know I am speaking the truth. It is important to me that he understands that. I have never lied; I have omitted information, and if he ever discovers it, it is imperative that I am not seen as deceiving him.

He studies me solemnly, quietly. “Then I was wrong,” he says after a while. “I guessed incorrectly your favorite pleasure."

I neither confirm nor deny, but concentrated on dragging the cloth over skin that has suddenly become unbearably sensitive under his perusal.

When I am ready to get out, he grabs the towel and holds it up for me. “Set it down and leave,” I order.

“Come along. I'm just going to wrap it around you." He says softly.

His eyes hold a challenge that I can’t not accept. I rise, the water sluicing off my body. I step out of the tub and stand with my back to him, waiting, waiting ... and then the towel folds around me, covering me from neck to knee. Before I can move away or protest, he turns me around to face him. I clutch the opening of the towel, keeping it closed. His hands are just above mine, knotted around the towel, keeping it secure as well. Then he tugs gently, bringing me nearer, until I almost fall against him, lost in the blue of his gaze.

“Why does panic show in your eyes whenever I'm studying you?” He asks. “What is it that you don’t want me to see? What is it that you think I’ll see? Your freckles, perhaps? You have eighteen of them, you know.”

“I don't. Not that many. Half a dozen at the most.” I mumble.

He smiles teasingly. “I suspect I look more closely at you than you look at yourself in the mirror. There are eighteen.”

With that he releases me and strides from the room. I sink onto the edge of the tub, wondering what other surprises the night might bring.