She had their blood on her. It was too disgusting for words.

Helen felt a wave of nausea roll through her. She tried to fight it. She clenched her teeth and breathed through her nose.

Drake lifted her up into his arms and stood, then let her feet drop to the ground. She could see now that he’d been sitting on the lid of the toilet, which he raised, along with the seat. “You’re all right,” he told her. “Just breathe.”

She was. She was breathing and Drake was breathing with her, and slowly it started to work. She felt Drake’s rough thumb sliding along the inside of her arm, sending tendrils of comforting energy rushing through her. Her stomach settled enough that she was confident she wouldn’t puke, at least. And she was standing on her own two feet, which was an improvement as well. Drake still held her close and he still had his forearm wrapped around her, but he wasn’t holding her up. She was doing that all by herself. Thank God.

Helen needed to get clean. That was the next rational thought that went through her head. She wanted every bit of this . . . stuff—which she was not going to name—off her. “I’m fine now,” she told him. “Just give me a few minutes to bathe.”

He lifted her arm to show her his long fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Sorry. We’re connected again. Don’t worry. I’ll be a good boy and close my eyes.”

“Can’t you pull away again? Like you did before?”

“I could, but it would hurt. You don’t want me to hurt, do you?”

He was playing her, trying to make her feel guilty. And it was working.

Helen turned around and glared up at him. The sharp angles of his face were highlighted by the harsh light of the bare lightbulb over the sink. His shirt was gone and she could see the tattoo on his chest clearly now. It was a tree that ran all along his left side. The roots snaked down below his belt and the branches reached up until some of them stretched over his shoulder and partly down his left arm. The branches were mostly bare with only a few leaves left and the artwork was so perfectly lifelike that she imagined she could see the leaves sway with every breath he took. Amazing.

Beautiful.

Without realizing what she was doing, Helen reached out and ran her finger over the branches, down the trunk until it turned into thick roots. Heat and power sizzled beneath her fingertip and she felt herself growing stronger, more awake, with every second.

Drake’s stomach tightened until she could see ridges of muscle standing out, and his hand flattened over hers, trapping it against his muscles. Nice.

“If you go any lower, you won’t be the only one getting naked, sweetheart.”

For one insane moment, it sounded like a great idea—getting to see all that manly flesh naked, up close and personal. And then she remembered where she was. Who he was. She was getting the hots for a man who was worse than merely wrong for her. He’d be there when she died. Soon.

Helen’s face heated along with the rest of her and she had to suppress a shiver. He was staring down at her and she could swear those golden brown eyes of his were glowing from within. His gaze took in her blush, followed it down her neck and lower, where she could feel her nipples draw tight.

The muscles in his jaw bunched and his nostrils widened as he breathed in deep. “You sure do know how to tempt a man,” he told her in a rough voice. “And I’m more than happy to climb into that tub with you and make sure you’re clean all over, but we can’t wait any longer to get you out of those clothes.”

Oh, man. That all sounded good, every insane bit of it. It had been a long time since she’d felt like this for a man. Maybe she never had felt quite like this. Even so, she wasn’t about to let herself get involved with the man who was going to watch her die. Somehow that thought made the whole vision more horrible—put a spin on it that she’d never thought of before. It was one thing to have a stranger watch her die. It was completely different if the person standing there was one she cared about, one who was supposed to care about her.

A knock sounded on the door and Thomas’s voice drifted through the thick wood. “I got a fire going. We need to burn her clothes now.”

Helen felt her body tense at the mention of fire. She’d had more than enough of that for one night. The fire in the diner, then another in her home. Drake’s burned body. It was too much, so she just stopped thinking about it.

It took Helen a moment to clear her head and recap what he’d just said. Burn her clothes?

The blood. It drew the monsters to them.

Helen no longer cared that she had an audience. She shucked her shorts and tugged her tank top over her head and handed them to Drake. She’d knocked his hand away in her haste and he’d gasped in pain before he recaptured her wrist. “Sorry,” she told him with a grimace. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, opened the door a crack, and shoved the clothes out.

Helen looked down at her bra, panties, and socks, checking for signs of blood. “I don’t see any blood, do you?”

She wasn’t a fashionably skinny woman, and even though she was as covered as she would have been in a bathing suit, she still felt naked. Exposed. Clothing hid a lot of sins, and heaven knew her body had plenty of those to hide. She wished like crazy that she’d actually started that exercise program she’d promised herself she would on New Year’s Eve.

Drake’s jaw did that bunching up thing as he stared down at her. His hands found her waist and settled there, gripping and releasing like he was stuck on a loop, trying to decide what to do. He was staring at her breasts, her hips, her legs. Sure, she’d asked him to check for blood, but what he was doing was more than just a casual glance. She knew that her sturdy bra and modest panties kept her covered, but that didn’t stop him from finding a way to make her feel naked.

Helen had never seen anyone look at her like this before, not even the men with whom she’d shared her bed, few as they were. Drake was looking at her like his life depended on it, like his whole world was right there and that nothing else mattered.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

Of all the things she’d expected to hear him say, that was not even on the list. She was stunned speechless by his ludicrous statement. Sure, she was no hunchback, but she’d seen enough TV to know the kind of women guys really wanted and she was nowhere close.

“Um,” was all she managed to get out.

“Anything else?” asked Thomas from the other side of the door, sounding impatient.

Drake’s eyes blazed with hope.

Helen fought the urge to cover herself with her arms. “Did you see any blood?” she asked him again.

“Turn around,” he ordered in a sinfully thick tone.

Helen did and squeezed her eyes shut in the hopes that it would make this whole embarrassing situation go away. She was sure she could feel Drake staring at her ass. As if he could miss it.

“Your clothes are fine,” he said with a distinct note of disappointment. Then, louder, to the door, “That’s all, Thomas. Thanks.”

So, there she stood with her back to him and she could see his face in the bathroom mirror. He was still looking down at her with an expression that she would have called lust in any other circumstances, or had he been looking at some other woman. But he was looking at her and he kept looking and didn’t stop. Helen felt a blush covering her skin, or maybe it was just the warm, humid air that had her heating up.

He still had a loose hold on her left wrist and he used it to pull her back against his bare chest. Oh, baby. She was filled with a rush of warmth, a whole swarm of those tingling streamers of energy that made her body sing. He pressed his hand over her ribs and held her tighter. She could see his tan fingers splayed out across her paler skin in the mirror. Her wrist was pinned at the small of her back, trapped between their bodies. His hold was too intimate. Too possessive.

And, man, did she like it. She didn’t want to move.

She watched him in the mirror as he lowered his head until his mouth just barely brushed her neck. He didn’t move, didn’t kiss her, just breathed in deep.

He mumbled something against her skin.

“What?” It was hardly a whisper, but he heard it all the same.

He looked up, just lifting his face enough to look at her in the mirror. He smiled then, a dark, sensual smile that told her he knew she’d been watching. “You smell like lilacs. I’ve always liked lilacs.”

What could she possibly say to that? “Uh, thanks.”

As responses went, that was a ten on the lame-o-meter.

He just chuckled and she felt the deep sound reverberate in her chest. He pulled away a little, but his hands stayed on her, scattering her thoughts.

“We should stop before I forget all about why we’re in here.”

“In where?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“In the bathroom. For a bath.”

“Oh, right.” She’d forgotten, but then she had an excuse. A gorgeous man was looking at her like she was a Victoria’s Secret model who held the key to the meaning of life. She’d never had that happen before and she wasn’t quite sure how to react. “You should go, then, so I can get undressed.”

“Not going to happen. I’ve spent enough time hurting tonight. But I did promise not to look. Unless you want me to.” That was an offer that not even she could miss.

“No. Looking is definitely a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a great idea to me, but I promise to play nice.” He closed his eyes, but kept her wrist captive.

“I’m going to have a hard time getting undressed without my hand.”

“I’m happy to help.”

“Gee. Thanks. What a guy.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. Here.” He put his hands on her waist again, wearing a pleased smile. “Now your hands are free.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Not nearly as much as I would be with my eyes open, but you’re worth the sacrifice.”

Helen shook her head, but couldn’t help the smile that curved her mouth. She liked this side of Drake, this teasing, playful side that she never would have guessed existed.

She made quick work of the rest of her clothing, grabbed a towel, and led Drake the few steps it took them to reach the tub. She stepped into the warm water. It was perfect and she let out a small sigh.

“No fair,” he told her. “Noises like that make me want to look.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Pervert,” she shot back.

Drake laughed and tightened his hold on her.

Helen pried his hands from her waist and held on to them as she lowered herself into the water. The tub was deep and she sank down in all the way to her neck. Pure bubbly bliss.

She couldn’t help but groan in pleasure.

“You’re killing me with those noises, Helen. Have some pity.”

“Sorry.” She was covered from neck to toe with bubbles, so she said, “Just have a seat and I’ll be done as fast as I can.”

Drake sat down on the floor with his back to the tub and draped her fingers over his bare shoulder. “You’ll just have to keep a hold on me for a change.”