Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [70]
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m going to do nothing more threatening than tuck you in.” He scowled at the blood on her hands, arms, and legs. “You stained my jersey.”
She sniffed. “With your horse’s blood.”
“You have my thanks. And Battle’s heart, I think,” he added wryly.
Her fragile smile made his own heart skip a beat. Pale and exhausted as she was, she was still beautiful, and her weight felt good in his arms.
Fierce admiration swelled in his chest as he set her gently on the bed. He could admire her without caring about her, right? But the way he’d torn into Thanatos, telling him to never touch her again, had nothing to do with admiration. He’d hated the sight of Than’s hand on her, and Ares, who had never been jealous in his life, had wanted to rip his brother apart.
Yeah, this woman was definitely hell on his senses.
“Do you want to clean up?” he asked, anxious to get her settled in so he could get out of here.
She practically purred. “I would never turn down an opportunity to use your amazing shower.”
“You can use it whenever you want,” Ares said, his voice hoarse, because now he was picturing Cara there. Naked. Soap suds streaming in bubbly tendrils over her breasts, stomach, thighs… that private place between.
“Don’t say that. I might just move into it.” Once again, her smile did bizarre things to his insides. And outsides. This was bad. “And I like it when you smile. You don’t do it often, do you?”
He didn’t like that she’d ascertained that about him, even though it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see it. “I haven’t had much to laugh about since I learned I wasn’t human,” he said simply. Even before that, he’d been intense, at ease only with his sons and brother.
“How long has that been?”
“Five thousand years. Give or take a couple of centuries.”
Her eyes shot wide, giving him another rare laugh. “You don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”
“It’s my healthy lifestyle,” he said lightly, because oddly, this conversation with her was the most normal thing that had happened to him in what seemed like forever. Usually females wanted one thing from him, and it wasn’t talk. When they did talk, either it was to heap praise on him in a suck-up-fest, or they wanted to hear about his exploits. They didn’t want to hear about him.
“Well, sign me up.” She shifted on the bed. “Why are there no pillows?”
“Comfort makes a man soft.”
“Hmm. I’d think comfort would make a man happy. You should try it.”
She was teasing him, and he experienced the strangest euphoric feeling inside. It felt good, the way he felt after downing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, but without the loss of clarity. “So all I’m missing from life is a pillow?”
“Hardly.” She patted the mattress. “You could use a softer bed, too.” Before he could comment, not that he knew what to say about this female suddenly wanting to take over his bedroom, she gestured to the dresser. “Can I borrow another shirt from you?”
Hell, yeah, he wanted her to wear his clothes. There was something incredibly sexy about her wrapped in his clothing. But she needed more than his oversized T-shirts and sweats that would have to be duct-taped around her waist. “While you’re showering, I’ll pick up some things from your house.”
“Thank you.” She stood, swayed, and plopped back down on the mattress. “A little woozy.”
Guilt wasn’t something he felt often, but now it moved in and made itself at home like an unwanted roommate. Sort of like what she was doing. “Hold off on the shower. I’ll bring warm water and a washcloth.”
“And give me a sponge bath?” Cara graced him with a yeah, right look. “I don’t think so. If I get dizzy, there are plenty of places to sit in there.”
True, half the shower was lined with heated benches set into the marble. He sometimes turned on the steam and the stereo and lounged in there for hours. Cara could easily wash while sitting down. And there he went, picturing