Chapter 34 34. Under That Dress
Water closed over my head. My arms swung wild, trying to find the surface. My lungs screamed. I reached out and grabbed at nothing, kicked but my feet found nothing solid.
Broken words reached me through the water. "...stand...your feet..."
It was just panic and the burn in my chest.
Then hands gripped me, wrapping around my waist. My body shot upward, air slamming back into my chest in broken, greedy gulps.
"I've got you. Breathe," he said, voice low against my ear.
I did-coughing, gasping, my head dropping to his shoulder. His shirt clung to both of us as he half-dragged, half-carried me out of the water.
"Lucien-" I wheezed, still coughing. "You-idiot!"
He only laughed, a lazy, maddening laugh that didn't match the way my heart was racing. It just made me want to slap him and... kiss him at the same time.
He grabbed a towel from the chair and wrapped it around my shaking shoulders. His touch was infuriatingly gentle, one that didn't belong to a man who'd almost drowned me.
"You could've killed me," I snapped.
"That means you owe me thanks," he said simply.
"What?"
He crouched in front of me, grin playing on his lips. "Thanks to me, you drowned, now you're cold, which means you'll probably be getting sick. So no chores for you tonight."
I blinked at him. The sheer audacity of that logic almost impressive. Still, I kicked his shin hard enough to make him flinch.
"You're insane."
"Maybe," his grin widened.
I huffed and stormed inside, dripping water all over the floor.
\---
Steam curled through the bathroom, blurring the mirror until my reflection looked like a ghost.
I let the hot water wash away the chlorine from hours ago, the ache, and maybe a little bit of the frustration.
I picked up the pink bottle Mama Cortez gave me and turned it in my hand. I was only curious. Not trying to... whatever she meant by drive him crazy.
It was nothing like the generic soap I'd been using. The scent was floral, sweet, and sinful. I poured some into my palm and lathered it over my skin. It clung to my skin like silk.
When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I reached for the nightdress. I slipped on the delicate fabric and instantly regretted it.
The neckline dipped lower than I expected. My entire cleavage was open!
Mama Cortez was right about the dress being one to get a reaction from a man.
My fingers went to the flimsy silk, pulling the neckline up an inch, though she knew it was a lost cause.
For a reckless second, a hot thought stole my breath; what sort of expression would this dress pull onto Lucien's face?
Lucien.
The name was a silent, dangerous thrum in my chest. And suddenly, I needed to cover my chest.
Quickly, I loosened the tips of my braids. The strands fell forward, covering my chest.
Better. Even though I was going to bed immediately.
I opened the bathroom door.
Lucien stood near the mirror, half-buttoned black shirt, black chinos, wrist bent as he adjusted his watch. The dim light from the bedside lamp caught the sharp line of his jaw.
He turned-and stopped.
His eyes, dark and heavy, dropped immediately to the silk barely covering me. He didn't blink, didn't look away. The air in the room stretched taut between us. I felt the heat rising on my skin under that slow appraisal.
"Come here..." he drawled. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk that did dangerous things to my composure. "Help me with my watch." He held up his wrist.
My feet carried me to him before my brain could catch up.
Each step toward him felt like stepping into fire. My hands were trembling before I even touched him. His skin was warm beneath the cool metal of the watch.
When it clicked into place, I turned to leave-but his fingers caught my wrist.
He pulled me in, and I crashed into his chest with a gasp.
"What are you doing?" My voice came out breathless.
"Looking at you." His voice was a low rumble that vibrated through the silence.
"Let me go."
"Not until you tell me why you smell different tonight." There was something playful and dangerous in his eyes at once.
"That's none of your business."
"Isn't it?" His arm tightened around my waist, bringing me impossibly closer. His thumb moved to my temple, stroking my edges.
"We are alone. You don't have to touch me like-like we're real."
He tilted his head, his voice low. "Who said anything about pretending?"
His thumb traced down. Past my cheek. Down my neck.
"I am just talking." Then he hooked one of my loosened braids and gently pushed it back over my shoulder.
Hot air suddenly brushed the left side of my now open cleavage. A shudder ran through me. My legs felt weak. This contact felt too good.
His eyes left mine, traveling down, but his gaze stopped at my collarbone. His thumb brushed a spot there and a sound escaped my lips.
Not quite a gasp, not quite a whimper.
"You still haven't told me what happened yesterday."
The mark. The scratches from Ronan's nails when he'd grabbed my collar and shaken me.
"I had an argument with my roommate."
"So, Maya Brooks, your best friend, hit you like this?"
"How-How did you know her name?"
"I know everything about you, Camila Sterling."
His fingers moved again, trailing from the mark to the side of my throat. Our breaths mixed at this point, and if I moved just an inch closer... IT would happen.
"I know your eyes turn greener when you're angry... I know you act confident but you're fragile inside, full of fears you won't name... I know your fingers tap when you're nervous..."
My fingers were doing just that-tapping against his side. I tried to stop, but his breath was too close, his voice too deep.
"And I know..." his fingers curled around my throat, "...you aren't wearing anything underneath that dress..."