“You do realize you’re mortal until you become immortal, right? And that most potential immortals never make it to the age to become immortalized.”
“What?” I asked, pulling on his arm to stop him.
“Did Eliza teach you nothing?” he countered. When I blinked at him, he peered over my shoulder, tugging me with him down the hall. He moved to a door, opening it before pulling me through. “Did she leave you to die?”
“My mother? No. I ran away at seventeen, and this is my first time home since leaving. She refused to move again because I’d left home and was unprotected. In her words, I was too damn stubborn to not run headfirst into a Van Helsing, and trip, getting pinned on his dick without even knowing it,” I said, narrowing my eyes on him as he smirked. “I came looking for you to know my enemy and figure out who to avoid.”
“How did that work out for you?”
“Not so well. But this particular Van Helsing doesn’t seem so bad yet. Plus, he doesn’t seem to want me dead. If that changes, I’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” I dismissed him as much as I could while holding his hand. Normally when the curse struck, I was in bed, which was on the floor because every frame we’d tried had snapped or given out beneath the curse.
“Strip,” he ordered, and I turned, glaring at him. “Do you plan on sleeping in your clothes, then? Might make bathing an issue as well,” he said, shrugging broad shoulders as his lips tugged into a frown, studying the horror marring my face.
“I’m not bathing in front of you!”
“I’m about to climb into a bathtub. Unless you plan on standing there holding my hand while I wash myself, you’re joining me. I promise to be a gentleman and not fuck you, Remi. I have a routine, and normally I would shower before bed. Considering the day you just had, and your soft nature, I figured a bubble bath with a nightcap would be warranted before you curled into bed beside me. We can discuss whatever you’d like in it, or finish what we started at the bar. But that choice is yours to make.”
“You’re expecting me to strip naked and bathe with you? Just like that?” I stammered, staring at him as he smirked, lifting my hand to his waist as he released it.
In stunned silence, I watched his fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal rippling waves of muscles that covered his chest. Tattoos and muscle with pierced nipples were exposed to my greedy stare as he shook his thick arms out of his shirt. Standing before me in nothing but his slacks, I swallowed a groan. Every time the man moved, his muscles tensed and bunched with the slight movement while I stood silently drinking in the sight of him.
I’d seen men naked before, a lot of men. Not in a sexual manner, but wounded soldiers treated from wounds obtained while on hunts. None of them had shit on Rhys Van Helsing. He appeared to be sculpted by the gods, created to make a girl go stupid from mere sight. His coiled muscles contracted and moved as his hands lowered to the button on his slacks, using his thumbs to unfasten them before letting them drop to his feet. My mouth opened and went dry as his thick cock fell free, bouncing forth before my wide eyes.
“You keep staring at it, little girl, and it’s going to notice you,” he whispered against my ear, causing me to back up away from him into the dresser.
The dresser slammed forward, sending my body hard against his chest. We landed in a heap of limbs on the bed. I felt something twitch against my cheek, and I lifted, staring down at his cock that I’d been laying on. His throaty laughter sounded from beneath me, and I groaned in horror, wiping the wetness from my face.
“Oh, God, you got pre-cum on my face!” I whined, much to his amusement as he laughed, watching up at me. I tried to push away from him and stand, groaning as the giant bed shattered the moment I was off, smashing my foot. “Ouch!” He laughed harder. Sitting up, he grabbed my hand. “It’s not funny!” I wiped his wetness from my cheek, glaring at him. “You’re disgusting.”
“You landed with your face against my cock. It is funny.”
Pounding started at the door, and he stood, kicking off his boots and socks as I held onto him, allowing him to step the rest of the way out of his pants. The knocking continued, and he acted as if it didn’t bother him that someone was pounding on the door while he peered around his disheveled room.
Rhys moved toward the door, and I stammered. “What are you doing?”
“Telling my men that you didn’t attack me before they storm the room to investigate,” he stated, arching a brow with a silent question. I released my hand on his hip as he watched me. The ceiling above me started to crack, and he shook his head, reaching for my hand. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, yanking me forward. “You are destroying my house, Silversmith.”
“You cursed me, so deal with it.” I started to cross my arms over my chest, but it was futile with Rhys holding my arm. Abandoning the action, I frowned as he walked us toward the door, pulling me with him.
Rhys cracked it open far enough that it revealed several heavily armed men outside of it. “Everything is fine, gentlemen. Just rough sex happening in here,” Rhys declared, causing me to sputter in horror at his announcement. Closing the door, he turned and yanked my body against his, brushing his hand against my cheek. “Now strip, woman.”
Chapter Eight
Rhys walked me toward an open doorway, and once we were inside the room, I gasped at its elegance. His bathtub was large and sunken, with rose petals floating over the top of the water. Candles covered the ledge, and the scent of sage and roses rushed through me, calming my frayed nerves.
“You used witches’ herbs and a soothing mixture in the water, didn’t you?” I accused softly, noting that I was relaxing entirely too much to be naked around him.
“Yes,” he replied. “You’re young, and your body is still something you think should be hidden. I thought it wise to help ease some of your modesty before climbing into the tub with me.”
“That was actually thoughtful,” I said, deflating. “Can you turn around?”
“You think that’s going to make it where I cannot see you?” He peered around at the room full of mirrors. Exhaling, he smiled tightly, giving me his back, still holding my wrist. “Place your foot against mine, Remi.”
I gave him my back, staring at the large bare foot with the heel toward mine. Brushing my foot against his, I swallowed down the thought of the intimacy at seeing his bare foot. For some unknown reason, I’d always found it intimate to see a man’s feet without shoes, as if it somehow held a broader meaning, which, of course, it didn’t.
His hand released my wrist, and I lifted the borrowed shirt over my head, slowly unbuttoning my pants while leaving the skimpy panties on as some line of defense against him. Silently, I turned toward Rhys, sucking my lip between my teeth as his eyes lowered to my naked breasts that my arms slightly hid.
“You’re not naked, little Silversmith,” he murmured.
“I’m not getting naked with you near me. This will have to do,” I frowned, lifting my eyes to the heated blue depths that smiled, even though his mouth remained in a tight white line. Without warning, he lifted me and stepped into the tub.