Making his way toward the bedroom cabin at the very rear of the plane, he carried me straight through the room and to the small bathroom off to the side. Setting me on my feet, he wordlessly started the shower before turning his attention back to me. Raising his firm, calloused hands to cup my cheeks, he leaned his forehead against mine. “Our problems will be there in the morning.”
“It is the morning,” I pointed out in a whisper.
He sighed. “Our problems will be there after we’ve both gotten some sleep. Can we just have a little while where I’m just Rafe and you’re just Isa? Without all the other bullshit and the weight of the world on our shoulders?” Something in the genuineness of his voice made me want to give him that, but the pounding dread rising in my veins made my heart race.
Rafael had never hesitated to give me bad news. To tell me things that he knew would worry me or stress me out.
Whatever had happened, had to be bad. My anxiety for Odina spiked, picturing her lying dead on the grass back at the house. Discarded, and not important enough for Rafael to bother with in his urgency to get out of the city.
I nodded in spite of my need for answers, observing his sigh of relief for the shock that it was. Whatever was bothering him, I didn't think I wanted to know.
I lifted my hands to his shirt, tugging the fabric up and over his head. It was so covered with dried blood that it crinkled as he raised his arms and let me pull it off him. Tossing it to the side, I ran my fingertips over the red stain on his skin until I reached the button of his jeans. Undoing it and shoving the denim down over his hips, I watched as he maneuvered in the small space to kick off his shoes, boxer briefs, and the pants. They joined his shirt in the corner, his hands going to my dress and raising it up over my head. His eyes dropped to my body, inspecting me for injuries as he ran his hands over me and stripped off my bra and underwear.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked, the palm of his hand pressing against my belly. The meaning of the words washed over me, echoing the concern I felt.
"I don't think so. I haven't bled or anything like that, and I feel fine aside from being groggy and some sore muscles," I explained. Both seemed like they went with the territory, given I’d been hit with the blast from a bomb and drugged.
Again.
I very much looked forward to being back home onEl Infiernowhere the night didn't erupt into an explosion and threaten to set my skin on fire.
"There will be a doctor waiting for you in New York," he said, moving to the shower.
"Why are we going to New York?" I asked, wanting nothing more than to be home.
"I have something to do quickly. We'll be safe." He stood under the spray while I watched, letting the water run red as it went down the drain. He waited it out, hanging his head and studying the swirl until it ran clear. Then he held out a hand, motioning me inside the small shower with him.
I walked forward, pressing the side of my face to his unbloodied chest. Part of me hadn't been convinced that so much blood couldn't be his, that to be that covered he would’ve had to hold the victim close. "Who?" I asked.
He shook his head, touching his lips to the top of my head firmly. "Tomorrow," he reminded me. Grabbing the bottle of shampoo off the rack hanging from the shower head, he worked it through my hair. The massage of his fingers on my scalp felt like heaven, soothing the edges of my anxiety until I practically moaned from the sensation.
It seemed like no matter what happened in our lives, Rafael would always be able to bring me to the peak of whatever emotion he hoped to wring from me. Calm, content, horny, murderous, or stabby.
He brought out the best and the worst in me.
As he rinsed the shampoo from my hair, I settled into the gentle petting of his hands on me as he helped work the suds out. He made no move to touch me sexually despite the press of my breasts against his chest, instead taking care of me in the way I hadn't known I needed. I'd missed the intimacy of it in our more intense relationship that followed the turn in Ibiza.
So while he worked the conditioner through my hair, I sank into the feeling of his hands on my scalp and brushing against my spine as he worked it through the ends. "Your hair has gotten so long," he commented, grabbing the very bottom where it brushed against the swell of my ass with my head tipped back.
"I should have it cut," I murmured, lost to the sensation of his hand on me as he grabbed a loofa and squirted body wash into it.
"Don't. I like it long," he said, twisting the length around one of his fists. Despite the efficient, caring way he ran the loofa over my body, the heat of the statement washed over me. He didn't pause on my pussy, cleaning me methodically and sighing in relief when the loofa came away without the stain of blood that might have signified something was wrong with the baby.
I took it from his grip when he finished, scrubbing away the remaining stubborn traces of blood from his skin. "How much am I going to hate you when tomorrow comes?" I whispered, watching as his face twisted with reality.
"I'm not sure," he admitted, watching me clean him. I wasn't nearly as efficient, taking comfort in what very well may be the last time I touched him so willingly. I couldn't imagine what he might have done, but I shoved it away to enjoy one last night with my husband.
Before he again became my enemy.
My body felt light, sinking into the familiar trail of his fingers through my hair as he finally rinsed out my conditioner, turning off the water and stepping out to grab a towel. He dried himself first, then pulled me free from the shower as I stumbled with the gradually increasing exhaustion that caught me in its trap.
I hadn't thought I'd be able to sleep again so soon after waking from being drugged, but the undeniable exhaustion taking over my limbs made my movements sluggish. "Let's get you to bed," he murmured, wrapping me in his embrace and guiding me back toward the bed. He pulled the blankets back for me to climb inside, sliding behind me and enfolding me into his arms.
Tears stung my eyes with the sudden realization of what might have made me so sleepy so quickly. "You drugged me again," I whispered, thinking back to the bottle of water. Only the knowledge that Rafe would never endanger the baby with a medication that wouldn't be safe gave me any comfort.
"Just let me hold you," he returned, pulling me tighter into his grip. "Tomorrow you might not."
I sucked back a sob, sinking into his warmth and trying to shove away the ominous words. There wasn't time for a second sob before my eyes drifted closed and everything faded away.