The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld #7)(36)
Author: Gena Showalter

Her arms flailed, her legs kicked. If she could prevent herself from going inside that bedroom, she could save herself thousands of years of guilt and pain. “Don’t go in there! Please!”

Closer…

As Leora slowed her steps, she glanced over her shoulder and offered Haidee another sweet smile.

They had final y reached the door. Leora stepped aside. A trembling, unsuspecting Haidee reached out——was somehow floating, suspended——was tightening her fingers around the edges of the curtain——was being straightened out, placed on her feet—

Before she could enter the room, cold water hit her ful -force, soaking her from head to toe and shocking her into reality. Haidee sputtered, blowing droplets out of her mouth.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

Out of habit, she immediately took stock of her surroundings. She stood inside a shower stal .

Unfamiliar.

Spacious, tiled, the faucet speckled with gold filigree. She glanced down at herself. She stil wore the new T-shirt, jeans and underclothes Strider had given her before chaining her. Her feet were stil bare.

Dark arms ripped with muscle were wrapped around her waist, holding her upright.

She stiffened, began to struggle. Panic gave her weakened body strength, her heart pumping blood through her veins at an astonishing rate. Yet, no matter what she did, she couldn’t budge those meaty arms.

Easy. Easy now. Are you okay?

Amun’s voice, steady though concerned, uncompromising though tender. He was the one holding her, she realized.

Instantly the fight abandoned her, and she sagged against him, resting her head in the hol ow of his neck.

If he was standing, that meant he had recovered. She was so relieved she could have sobbed. She’d spent several days trapped beside his bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. His stupid friend had carted her in and out, in and out. Just when Amun would stop thrashing, about to awaken, Defeat would move her. When the bastard would final y take her back, Amun would be worse than before.

Each and every time.

Now he was aware, lucid. For good. Now she was free.

Now they were touching.

Nightmare? he asked.

“Yes,” she managed to croak past the sudden lump in her throat. “How did we get here?” Later.

She thought she remembered vowing that she wouldn’t al ow herself to touch him again. Wouldn’t al ow him to touch her. Both were dangerous. And maybe she had, maybe she hadn’t. Nothing seemed real just then. But when one of his arms moved away from her, she had to cut off a whimper.

To her surprise, he didn’t abandon her. He merely reached forward and twisted the faucet before straightening and holding her again. A few seconds later, the temperature of the water warmed considerably.

Tel me about the nightmare, he said, gripping the hem of her T-shirt and lifting.

She could have protested. Instead, she raised her arms and al owed him to whisk the material over her head. This moment was so steeped in fantasy, so…necessary, she wanted only to fol ow it to its end. “I saw the vision you showed me the other day. The one on the veranda.”

I thought that was a good thing. He unfastened her jeans and pushed them to her ankles, then picked her up and kicked the denim out of the tub, leaving her in her bra and panties.

“I saw what came after.” Another croak.

With one hand snaked around her waist, propping her up, he used his other hand to palm a bar of soap and began lathering her skin. But you were so happy at the beginning.

So intimate a task, so shattering a topic. Yet, despite who and what he was, she had never felt more comfortable with another being. He didn’t try to arouse her as he cleaned her, careful of her cuts and bruises; he merely performed a basic task.

“Yes,” she said.

Tel me, he repeated. Once her skin was washed free of dirt and grime, he massaged shampoo into her hair. The scent of sandalwood bonded with the rising steam.

She opened her mouth to obey, but the words tangled on her tongue. If she spoke them, she realized, she would fling herself back to the past, back to that dark, dark day that had forever changed the course of her life—and his. She would lose the tranquility of this moment.

Tranquility she desperately needed.

“No,” she final y said. “Not now. Later. Please.”

Our later is fil ing up.

“I know.”

She expected him to push for answers, but he merely ducked her head under the spray of water and rinsed the suds from her hair. Clearly he understood a woman’s needs because he coated the thick strands with conditioner, gave the cream time to do its job, then gently rinsed her hair again.

There. Al clean.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t switch off the water or even move from where he stood behind her. He simply continued to hold her, strong fingers tracing circles just below her navel, his chin resting atop her head.

Stil he didn’t try to arouse her. Not once did he pluck at her pebbled ni**les or brush his fingertips over her sex. Yet, with every second that passed, her skin became more sensitized, a primitive need unfurling inside her and overshadowing that thick cloak of fantasy.

Reality was better.

Stil . She had to resist. For every reason she’d already noted and the thousand others she hadn’t yet considered.

Took every ounce of strength she possessed, but she stopped herself from lifting her arms, curling them back and digging her fingers into his scalp. Stopped herself from angling her face up to his for a kiss.

Bottom line, despite everything else, he didn’t desire her. He couldn’t. Not when she was practical y bare, covered only by thin strips of white cotton, and he’d had his hand al over her, yet had never tried to arouse her.

Suddenly that wasn’t the comfort it had previously been.

Had he figured out exactly who she was? Was that why he no longer wanted her?

No, he couldn’t know. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be taking such good care of her. Most likely he’d just decided kissing a Hunter, any Hunter, was wrong.

“Amun, I have to—” she began, stopping when he stiffened.

What had she said?

You know my name?

Her nerve endings flared with trepidation. “Yes,” she whispered.

So you know who and what I real y am. A statement of fact, not a question. You know I’m not your Micah.

No reason to deny the truth. “Yes.” Another whisper.

And yet you of al people let me hold you like this?

Something about the absolute confusion in his tone alerted her. She replayed his words. “You of al people,” he’d said.