CHAPTER 109: BATHING

The drive back to the villa was quiet in the best way.

Windows down. Wind tugging at Ella’s hair. Nicholas drove with one hand, the other resting over her thigh like he’d forgotten it was there—except he hadn’t. Every so often, his thumb would shift, tracing idle circles over her bare skin, as if memorizing it all over again.

The countryside blurred past them in amber and green, hills rolling like soft breath. Ella leaned her head back against the seat, her fingers loosely curled in the cotton bag now carrying their souvenirs—the rolled painting, the little ceramic dish she couldn’t resist, the small box with matching rings tucked safe inside.

She turned to look at him, smiling lazily.

"You know," she said, voice hushed with the kind of contentment that came only after a perfect afternoon, "that was kind of romantic."

"Which part?" he asked, glancing at her with a grin. "The painter who trapped us like a mythological siren, or the part where I made you buy rings with me?"

Ella snorted. "The part where you said you’d paint me."

He reached over to brush her hair behind her ear. "Still true."

"Even if I complain the whole time?"

"Especially then."

By the time they reached the villa, the sky had begun to melt into soft pink and lavender. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the gravel path and setting the villa’s stone walls aglow.

Inside, the air was cooler—still kissed with the scent of sea salt and citrus. Nicholas kicked off his shoes by the door and set the painting carefully on the entry table. Ella slipped past him, walking barefoot toward the terrace, the linen dress fluttering at her thighs.

He followed slowly, leaning against the open doorway as he watched her step into the fading sun.

"You belong in a place like this," he said softly.

Ella turned, backlit by light, her smile easy. "You keep saying things like that."

"Because I mean them."

She crossed to where he stood, lifted her hand, and traced the open collar of his shirt. "What do we do now?"

Nicholas tilted his head, his expression playful. "I’m torn between two things."

"Oh?"

"One," he said, taking her hand in his, "is pulling you into the shower and not letting you out until you’re too weak to stand."

Ella’s breath caught, but her smile widened.

"And the other?"

He brought her knuckles to his lips. "Feeding you strawberries in bed until you fall asleep on my chest."

She gave a mock sigh. "The hardship of choice."

Nicholas laughed softly. "Or we could compromise."

He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he bent slightly, his arm sweeping behind her thighs, and lifted her into his arms with easy strength.

Ella squeaked. "Nicholas!"

"I am a man of immediate action," he declared, carrying her inside. "Let it be known."

She looped her arms around his neck, laughing now, her face tucked against his jaw as he walked them through the villa and toward the bathroom—one of his favorite rooms in the place. It was spacious, all sun-bleached stone and warm tile, with a deep soaking tub beneath a wide window that overlooked the sea.

Nicholas set her down gently on the edge of the tub, then turned to run the water, adjusting the knobs until the stream was warm and steady. He reached for a jar of salts beside the sink, poured in a generous handful, then added a few drops of oil that smelled like bergamot and something sweeter—almost like orange blossoms.

As the bath filled, steam curling into the air, he returned to her, his hands sliding up her calves with slow, teasing affection.

"Still with me?" he asked.

Ella nodded, her voice hushed. "Barely."

He kissed the inside of her knee. "Let me undress you."

She lifted her arms.

He peeled the dress off her with reverence, not lust—like opening a gift he’d waited too long to touch. She was soft and sun-warmed beneath it, her skin glowing in the dimming light. When she stood, fully bare, he didn’t move at first.

Just looked at her.

And smiled like a man who had everything.

"You look like something I dreamt once," he murmured.

She stepped into the water slowly, letting it wrap around her like silk, and sank in with a sigh.

Nicholas followed suit, stripping off his clothes and sliding in behind her. She settled between his legs, her back against his chest, her head beneath his chin.

The water lapped gently at the edges. His arms circled her waist.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Just breathing.

Just being.

He washed her slowly, his hands lazy but thorough. He poured water over her shoulders, his fingertips tracing the slope of her spine, then down the delicate notch of her collarbone. She hummed softly when his fingers grazed her stomach, her arms resting over his as the water rocked them in a tender rhythm.

The bathwater lapped softly around them, warm and fragrant with orange blossom and salt. Ella leaned back into Nicholas’s chest, her skin flushed from the heat, her breath deepening with each slow stroke of his hands over her body.

His touch was maddeningly unhurried.

He wasn’t washing her anymore—at least, not in any practical way. He was dragging his fingertips down her arms, across her hips, along the tops of her thighs in the kind of rhythm that didn’t clean anything, just made her ache.

"Nicholas," she murmured, a warning in her voice.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he replied, utterly innocent. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, the deep, lazy rumble of his voice vibrating through her spine. "Something you need?"

"Your hands are... distracting."

"My hands?" he echoed, feigning offense. "I’m just helping you relax."

"You’re not." Her breath hitched when his palm flattened just beneath her navel, the tips of his fingers dipping low—almost.

He hummed behind her, dragging the pad of his thumb in slow, deliberate circles across her stomach. "Maybe I’m helping in a different way, then."

She tilted her head back against his shoulder, trying not to squirm. "You’re doing that on purpose."

"Of course I am."

His other hand drifted up to her chest, cupping her breast gently, his thumb brushing over the peak in a motion so light it made her toes curl against the bottom of the tub. She gasped, water rippling around them.

He pressed his mouth to her damp shoulder, then trailed soft kisses along her neck.

"You have no idea," he whispered between kisses, "how long I’ve wanted to do this. Just... have you like this. Wet. Warm. Unhurried. All mine."

"You’re smug when you’re turned on," she muttered breathlessly.

"Only because I know how to make you fall apart."

She turned her head slightly to glance back at him. "Do you now?"

Nicholas grinned, his mouth a little crooked, a little wicked. "Wanna test the theory?"