He leaned forward and tucked a finger under her chin. “You can see me any way you want, whenever you want.”
With that he stood and slowly pulled his T-shirt over his head. His chest and arms rippled with muscles, and she watched in fascination the dips and curves that traveled his taut skin.
He had the body of a warrior. There wasn’t an inch of spare flesh on his body. Every part bulged with muscle and his skin was a study in fascinating contours.
His hands traveled to his narrow waist and hooked into his jeans. The fly popped open and then the denim slowly worked its way over his hips.
No longer able to stare so avidly, she looked down, disconcerted by the heat in her cheeks. This was her husband. Why was she embarrassed to look? She desperately wanted to reacquaint herself with every nuance of her relationship with him. Wanted the intimacy back that he seemed to hint at. The closeness of their love.
When his jeans hit the floor, he climbed over the edge of the tub and gently pushed her forward so he could position himself behind her.
His penis brushed along her spine as he lowered himself, and she held herself rigid, not moving. She would hold it together. She would.
Finally he was situated, and then he wrapped his arms carefully around her and pulled her back against his chest. The springy hair at his groin, softened by the water, brushed the top of her buttocks, but she relaxed anyway and let him hold her.
She laid her head against his collarbone, and he kissed her temple. To her shock, she felt a shudder roll through his body about the same time she registered wetness against her skin. Tears. His tears.
She started to turn around, but he tightened his grip.
“Stay,” he said in a choked voice. “Just let me hold you, baby. Just let me hold you.”
She let herself relax back into his arms and nestled her head into the curve of his neck. Tremors continued to work through his body, and quiet little huffs sounded past her ears.
He held her tightly, a wealth of emotion straining in those muscles she’d admired. Instead of being reassured by the knowledge that someone loved her so deeply, she felt vulnerable. Scared. And maybe a little unworthy.
After a while, Ethan seemed to collect himself. His grip loosened and he cupped water in his hands to wet her hair. Then he squeezed shampoo onto her head and dug his fingers into her scalp, rubbing and kneading.
She moaned and closed her eyes in absolute bliss.
“Feel good?” he husked in her ear.
She wanted to cry. Such tenderness was alien. She couldn’t remember this, and it hurt all the more that she couldn’t bring such sensation readily to mind.
“Why can’t I remember?” she asked in a choked voice. “I want to remember. I do.”
His hands paused for a moment, and then he continued with gentle, loving strokes as he worked the lather. “You will, Rachel. You will.”
After a moment, his hands drifted down to her shoulders, kneading and massaging her tense muscles. They moved lower, hovering at her chest and then dipping into the water. She sucked in her breath, but he didn’t cup her breasts. His fingers glided over the soft swells but went quickly past to her belly, where they stopped, content to rest there at her waist.
“Slide down so I can rinse you.”
She went limp and eased down his body. He raised one hand to cup her chin and lifted so that her face stayed out of the water as her head reclined. Then he carefully rinsed her hair.
When he was done, he pressed a kiss to her forehead as she stared up at him, and then he put his hands underneath her arms and lifted until she was upright again. His fingers once again brushed across her breasts when he moved his hands, but as before, they didn’t linger.
“Rachel.”
Her name came out, almost an entreaty, expelled on a long, soft breath, one that bordered on an ache.
She stilled, waiting for what he wanted to ask.
“Do you remember much about your captivity?”
She stiffened, and her breathing ratcheted up. His hands smoothed over her shoulders, petting in a soothing manner.
Slowly she nodded. “Some. Not everything. The stuff . . . the drugs they gave me made things muddled.”
“What can you remember? Can you tell me about it?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to think about it.”