Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“I’m heavy.”
“You’re certainly not light,” he agreed. So rude. “But I’ll manage.”
Chapter Five
Iris knew there was no arguing with him over the matter. It was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not. And frankly, she was relieved. She really didn’t think she was able to walk the distance back to the house without her legs giving way.
She was shivering—his body heat no match for the icy torrent of rain—and she curled one arm around his neck and lowered her cheek to his chest, covering her face with her free hand in a futile attempt to keep herself protected from the rain.
They’d foolishly left the oilskin behind.
She couldn’t see where they were going, was just acutely cognizant of the steady, confident movements of the man who held her so securely in his arms.
In a matter of mere minutes, they were out of the rain and she lowered her hand and lifted her head to take in their surroundings. They were back in the kitchen, probably dripping all over the floor. Luna was making happy whining sounds of greeting.
Iris waited for him to put her down, but he didn’t. After quietly commanding Luna to stay, he continued to walk through the kitchen, down the hall… back to her prison, she supposed. She was of no more use to him, no point keeping her around any longer than he had to. But he strode right past her door and continued down the hall before turning into a different room. It looked like a guest bedroom. Decorated in russets and browns.
“Wha—?”
He ignored her squawk of surprise and walked her directly into the en-suite bathroom.
“You don’t have a tub in your suite. And I think you need a warm soak,” he said, as he sat her down on the commode. He rolled up his sleeves, perched his butt on the bath’s narrow rim, and opened the faucet, occasionally holding a hand beneath the stream of water to check the temperature, and adjusting accordingly.
Oh God, the massive soaker tub looked so damned appealing Iris actually moaned in longing at the sight of it.
He rummaged through the vanity cupboard while the tub filled with steaming hot water and made a soft sound of triumph when he found bath salts. He liberally sprinkled them into the water and agitated it with his hand. The scent of bergamot and jasmine immediately permeated the bathroom.
“Strip,” he commanded her curtly and, for the first time since he took charge in the shed, Iris truly balked.
“Not with you here.”
His eyes were incredulous as he turned to stare at her.
“Yes, with me here.”
“No.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, remember?”
Iris’s cheeks lit with the fires of hell as she recalled the moment he’d slammed into the bathroom last night.
“Well, I don’t want you to see me naked again.”
“Do you think you’re capable of getting out of your clothing without my assistance?”
Her lips thinned as she considered the question. And humiliatingly, the answer was a resounding no. The hoodie wouldn’t be a problem, but the button fly of her boyfriend jeans would be a challenge. Well, not so much a challenge as an insurmountable obstacle. There was no way she’d be able to undo those buttons with her numb, aching fingers.
She shrugged out of her moisture-heavy hoodie—dropping it to the tiled floor with a wet thwack—leaving only the soaked-through black tank top she wore beneath it.
Thereafter she was at a loss, staring helplessly down at her double-knotted boots while trembling violently, her chattering teeth and shuddering breath the only noise in the room.
Trystan Abbott shocked the hell out of her, when—with a quiet grunt—he sank to his knees in front of her and made quick work of unlacing her boots, then he encircled her ankle in his large hand.
“Lift.”
Incapable of doing anything other than obey, Iris dropped a hand to his broad shoulder for balance and lifted her foot while he tugged the boot off quickly and tossed it aside. He repeated the process with the other foot.
Then he remained kneeling there, at face level with her stomach. He said nothing and for a long moment he just sat there, staring at the soaked cotton tank top she wore. Thank God it was black or she’d be giving him quite the peep show—since she hadn’t bothered with a bra.
“Let’s do this,” he finally spoke, raising his face to meet her eyes. She could see the grim determination in his expression and the steely resolve in those beautiful eyes.
Before she could register his words and the meaning behind them, he slipped his left hand between the waistband of her jeans and her cold goosefleshed abdomen.
Iris sucked in a shocked breath when she felt the cold backs of his long fingers brush against her sensitive flesh.
Oh, God! This was so humiliating.
He grasped the placket of her jeans between thumb and forefinger, his knuckles flexing against her tummy at the move. Iris gritted her teeth, refusing to react in any way. This was purely impersonal. He was doing it because it needed to be done. And as such, Iris needed to treat this intimate touch as nothing more than a clinical necessity. Like visiting her doctor’s office. Yes, that was it! This was exactly the same as Dr. Herbert’s touch.