Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [57]
"You're okay," he said. He slid his buttocks forward, ducked his head under the water. Resurfaced moments later, eyes shut, water dripping down his face. He squeezed the water out of his hair, opened his eyes. "Temperature's about right for you now," he said.
Effie eased herself into the water. Her knees clicked like an old man's when she went into a crouch. Dad's were the same. She sat down.
Martin lathered his hair. "Strange being in someone else's bath," he said, lifting his legs onto the sides to make room for Effie. "Don't you think?"
Didn't seem that strange to her. It did seem strange to be lying in bath water that was this colour, though. "I suppose," she said.
He brushed her cheek with his foot, left her face wet. "You need to wash your face."
She turned her head to the side. "When I get out. Not washing it in this filth."
He wiggled his toes at her. He'd forgotten that nonsense about the decapitated heads watching them. That was good. She should try to relax too.
Hell, she was relaxed. She just wasn't feeling playful. Still thinking about that odd feeling of immobility earlier. She should tell Martin about it. Although maybe this wasn't a good time. When was a good time, though? "Something a bit weird happened …"
He stopped tapping her shoulder with his toes. Looked at her.
She couldn't go through with it, though. It sounded stupid. "Nothing," she said.
He frowned. Eyes crinkled. Something she usually found very sexy. He said nothing, though, even though he was no doubt aware that something was up. His foot slid into the water. He guided his toes across her thigh. She raised her hips, pressed her yoni against the sole of his foot.
Nothing.
He pulled his foot away. "Should be getting out."
"Richie said not to hurry."
"I didn't say we should hurry. Just meant we should watch our time."
She nodded.
"You okay?" he said.
"Fine," she said. "Rinse your hair."
He sighed, then ducked his head under the water. It rose to a dangerously high level. She realised she was holding her breath with him, and let it out. How many couples were there who could bond like this?
He'd known all about her family when they first met. Knew her dad was inside. Knew what Richie did for a living. Martin had spent some time inside himself a couple of years back for thieving manhole covers. And in prison he said Richie had been spoken about in hushed tones.
Martin had confessed to Effie that he was terrified of going back to prison. Said it was full of testosterone. Which was something he didn't much like. Truth was, he was just a little bit camp. But she liked that. Inside, though, it meant he got a lot of grief from guys who thought they had balls and that he didn't. Wasn't much fun for Martin being on the defensive all the time.
Effie told him she had no intentions of letting them get caught, told him to trust her.
Jesus, the guilt was a bastard.
When they first starting going out, she'd wondered if Martin knew what Richie had done. But she'd sought Martin out, not the other way round. And it hadn't taken long to realise that he'd never thought beyond a member of Savage's crew having killed his dad.
At least now Effie was making amends.
She winked at him.
"You know what I want, babe?" he said. He'd replaced his foot on the side of the bath, and water dripped onto the floor.
More mess for Effie to clean up. No, that was unfair. Martin would clean up after himself. He always did more around the house than her.
"What do you want?" she said, closing her eyes, enjoying the warm water covering her skin, easing her tired muscles. For a second. Until she remembered where she was and what they'd just done and what they still had to do.
"Ice cream."
He wanted ice cream.
"Now?" she said.
He nodded.
"Jesus," she said, "I'm not fetching you ice cream."
"Aw, go on." He grabbed her foot. "If you don't, I'll just have to lick your toes."
"Don't you dare." Her feet were very tickly.
"Up to you." He looked at her, still holding her foot.
"Fraser