I grab her again.
“Brody, I’m getting you a towel is all.”
My arms wrap around her. I have to tell myself not to squeeze her too tight physically. She’s scared. I was petrified the second I looked at that photo. Had she not been locked in here . . . I don’t need to finish that thought.
Justice’s hand runs the length of my face. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”
“Nae.”
“Please. Look at me.” Her earthy brown eyes flit back and forth between my blue ones as she gathers my attention. “I made a mistake this morning. Who’s to know if I wasn’t going to throw the invitation away before you came down? Or call you out and argue. But did I leave, Brody?”
“Aye!” I’m a six-fecking-foot bairn, being unreasonable. “Ye walked out today. Last time, ye kicked me out, too.”
“You have feelings.” She blows softly at the cut along my chest. “You have feelings, Brody MacKenzie.”
I let her go. Half a minute later, she’s returned, running hot water on a green terrycloth towel. I lean back against the counter.
“I have to remind myself that you can be hurt,” Justice says. Her gorgeous face is marred by concern and worry. With a feather touch, Justice cleanses my wound. I don’t need this help, but it’s a comforting feeling to want it. “When we first met, Brody, you were this larger than life being. Fucking, killing, empty words, and meaningless platitudes. Also, after Lance, I had my guard up. It dawned on me yesterday that you had feelings, although you’d said so.”
I watch her focus all her love and tender affection into doing something I’ve done for myself a hunner times. My fecking scars have scars. That goes with being a henchman.
“I’m worried, Brody.” She places the towel in the sink, looking up at me.
“Tell me why, I’ll fix it.”
“Can you? I think you’re very efficient at what you do. Have you ever worried about your significant other when it came to . . . crap. Yeah, this is new.” She heaves a sigh.
“Aye.”
“Well, you have the capacity to love.” She presses her lips along my chin. “Sheesh, this is a jawline. I considered licking your eyebrows once. Now, your jawline’s my newest obsession.”
“My eyebrows?” The animosity dissipates around me as I laugh.
“Yes.” She presses her hands against my chest, applying pressure. “It was sort of a joke. Now, stop making fun of me.”
I wriggle my jaw. “You like this?”
“I do. However, the verdict is out for the inside of my thighs. When you kiss me down below after screwing me hard, the beard soothed. Do we need to have a funeral?”
I had it in my mind to palm her pussy, but I burst into laughter. “Feck. That would’ve been a grand gesture. Brilliant, lass. The beard burned, though.”
“Oh?” She folds her arms. “Since I’ve promised to stay put, care to share?”
“Eh . . .” I’ll not have the lass skedaddle off over my story.
“C’mon, Brody. I’ll draw you a bath, finish washing you up, then you can tell me. Do you have Band-Aids?”
“How many Band-Aids would I need, Justice?”
Now, she’s laughing. “I haven’t the slightest idea—the entire box? Hey, I’m not equipped to stitch you up.”
“I don’t need stitches.”
“Either way, you should’ve focused your lov—your attention—on a nurse or a doctor. I read a hitman book where the lady was in med school and a Royal. It was—”
Placing a possessive arm around her body, I bring her close and look her deep in the eye. “I’m not focusing my love on anyone but ye, Justice.”