The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12) - J.R. Ward Page 0,202

she glanced over at him. “Or is there more?”

At that, she shifted her legs, the water undulating over that incredible body, her curves amplified as if she were moving … her nipples licked at and left wet to the air.

“There’s more,” he croaked as he ran his tongue over his lips.

“Then by all means, do draw up a chair. Unless you find that you’d like to join me.”

Fucking hell. “Is there any way I can get you up and out of there. And dressed?”

“If you wish to do it yourself, by all means, oblige your impulse.”

Yeah, because getting his hands on her naked was going to be suuuuch a big help.

Cursing under his breath, Trez went over and picked up a chair—because in the end, he was afraid that if he stayed standing he’d trip and fall into her. Literally.

As he sat down, he put his hands up to his face and scrubbed hard … and then all he could do was stay like that.

The water made a tinkling as if she were sitting up. “Trez? Are you all right?”

“No.”

There had been so many times in his life when he’d fallen off cliffs, when things that he’d done or had done to him had come back to bite him in the ass. Never like this.

“Trez?” When he didn’t answer her, she said, “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m…” Gee fucking whiz, where to start. “Selena, I’m really sorry.”

“Why?” The tension was thick in her voice. “What are you apologizing for?”

Shame made his throat tighten up so badly, he could barely get breath into his lungs. “I need to be honest with you. Straight-up one hundred.”

“I thought you had been.”

All he could do was shake his head. “Look, you know that I have had … extensive dealings with humans.”

“That wasn’t exactly as you chose to phrase it previously,” she remarked.

More with his head shaking. “My business is … it’s a club. Do you know what that is?”

“Rugby? Or baseball?”

“A dance club. A place where people drink and … listen to music.” Jesus Christ. “And do other things.”

“Yes…?”

He dropped his hands. She had sat up and her pink nipples were right on the edge of the water, the warm surface licking at them once again—not that she seemed to notice.

“Would you mind getting out and putting a robe on?” he asked.

“I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Fucking abso on that one. “I know. It’s just hard to concentrate.”

“Maybe I want you to struggle.”

Okay, right, virgins were not supposed to be so tantalizing. Then again, she wasn’t one anymore—he’d taken care of that.

Fuck. “Mission accomplished,” he muttered.

“You were telling me about your work?”

He focused his eyes on the floor. It was simple white tile, old and well-scrubbed, the kind of thing that managed to look fresh even with its lateral cracks and occasional chips.

“Trez?” From the corner of his vision, he watched as she extended her foot and turned the hot water on for a refresh. “You were saying?”

Just do it.

Great, life had been reduced to a Nike ad.

“I traffic women. Do you understand what that means?”

She frowned. “You take them out into the street?”

“I sell them. Their bodies. To men, usually.”

Cue the silence.

He met her in the eye. “I get paid for that. I sell them. Do you understand?”

After a moment, her beautiful hands receded from the sides of the tub and crossed over her breasts.

Exactly, he thought.

“And that’s not the worst of it.”

There was a very long pause. And then she said, “I do believe I should like to get dressed.”

He got to his feet and headed for the door. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Out in the snow-covered field, Layla wheeled around. She was about to scream when she recognized the male who had stepped out from behind the great tree. It was the soldier, the one who’d been injured and brought to the Brotherhood’s training center. The one who had failed to correct her when she’d assumed he was affiliated with the Brothers.

The one who had brought her here to help Xcor that night so long ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said, bowing low, his eyes still on her. “That is hardly a proper greeting.”

She was about to curtsy when she recalled that he did not deserve the respect. He, like Xcor, was on the other side of things.

“You are looking exceptionally well this cold evening,” he murmured.

His accent was not at all like Xcor’s, each word pronounced perfectly, the voice well modulated instead of gruff. But she was not fooled. He’d used her as a