“No,” she rushed to assure him, trying not to dig up that memory. “Trust me. You were very . . . effective.”
She covered her eyes as he smirked.
“I’m just trying to cover all our bases.”
“Whatever you need.” Clark hitched the strap of the bag higher on his shoulder and gave her a once-over that teetered on the edge of a leer. “It’s my pleasure to be of service.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. What was that saying? Hoisted by her own petard?
The next day, she recruited Ceilidh to help hunt down her half of the supplies.
“An enemies-to-lovers sex ritual with a smoldering Englishman?” The Scotswoman groaned. “Why are the requirements of your job so much better than mine?”
They bought salt in bulk and gathered rowanberries, going back to Ceilidh’s little flat to cook the vivid red fruit down, low and slow, for hours, trying to get the consistency right. They ended up adding some wild honey from a local crofter. It perfectly cut the tartness, turning the bubbling ruby mixture sticky and just shy of syrup-thick. Riley stuck her finger in the cooling concoction and brought it to her mouth for a lick. Perfect.
By Wednesday, they were almost ready. Clark assured her that even though an issue with a valve had “thrown a spanner in the works,” the tub would be ready the following night.
The last thing to do was have the slightly awkward but necessary conversation about protection.
While Clark chopped firewood, they ran through STI testing （good to go） and birth control （Riley’s IUD）。 It all felt very mature, as close to professional as they could make it.
Finally, the day of reckoning arrived with everything prepped, carefully outlined. There was nothing left to do but it.
Thankfully, they’d agreed to wait until sundown. Cover of darkness just seemed like it would make things slightly less awkward.
Riley didn’t mean to be late, but the rowanberry mixture had to be fresh and the stove at Ceilidh’s decided to act up at the last minute. By the time she finally got dropped off at the castle, Ceilidh laying on the horn and shouting, “Happy boning!” as she peeled out, Riley could see from the warm orange glow on the stained glass windows that Clark had already arrived.
She expected to walk in to flashlights and lanterns, but instead found—“Holy shit, Clark.”
He’d put real candles in the chandelier, and more in the few surviving wall sconces. The effect created just the right play of light and shadow to bring out the room’s faded glory.
“It’s beautiful.”
When she finally managed to stop taking in the ceiling and the walls, she saw what else he’d done. In the cleared-out center of the room lay a clean canvas tarp. On top was the mattress from his camper, covered in fresh sheets and blankets, piled with all the cushions she recognized off his couch. To the side sat a neat stack of towels, a big flask of water, and two metal cups.
Riley pressed a hand to the squeezing in her chest. “You made it nice.”
She knew it wasn’t a romantic gesture. He was practical and safety oriented. He probably didn’t want to break his back rolling around on the cold floor in the dark, that’s all. No doubt he would stop in the middle of sex to lecture her on the importance of hydration.
“Thank you,” she said anyway, meaning it. The gesture felt like flowers before a date—no, actually, better. It felt like someone caring about her comfort. Like Clark wanting her to know she was worth the effort.
“Yes, well, just because we have to strip down in the middle of a crumbling castle doesn’t mean we have to be uncomfortable the entire time.” He stood with his hands behind his back, his face giving nothing away. “The tub was the real achievement.”
Oh! She hadn’t even noticed. But there, in the corner. The rig he’d built was impressive, a structure of stacked bricks that looked almost like a pizza oven with a grate, a chimney she recognized from her very memorable foray into the kitchen, and a large metal trough on top.
Riley walked over to dip her hand in. The water was hot, not quite scalding but definitely toasty, with billows of steam wafting up into the chilly air.
“It’ll cool as the fire underneath burns down,” Clark said from her side, “but that should still give us plenty of time.”
“This is incredible.” And she meant all of it, but mostly him doing this for her. With her.
The smile he gave her then was small, almost shy. “Do you want to unpack your things?”
Oh, yeah. She had a bag over her shoulder. Right.
First, Riley laid the salt circle for protection, creating a wide arc around the entire room. Then she carefully set the rowanberry mixture next to the bed, since they wouldn’t need that for a bit.
When there was nothing left for her to arrange, she turned to where Clark was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her work.
“Last chance to back out.” Riley was only partially joking, only partially talking to him.
The night held a kind of crackling potential, the scent of ozone stronger in this room than any other and growing as the minutes passed.
“We’ve run through everything twice,” Clark said, serious eyes, serious mouth. “It’s a good plan. Highly considered, but simple.”
“You shouldn’t be the one comforting me.” It scared her more than she wanted to admit that there was no way for her to do this alone.
“I don’t mind.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Riley couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be mocking or conciliatory—the way she might have been if he’d been the one who had to ask her for help.
Selfishly, she was glad his part came first.
He’d dressed casually, as she had, knowing what was coming.
Had she never seen him in a T-shirt before? The plain white cotton looked thick, definitely not the kind that came in her preferred Hanes three-pack, and the simple cut highlighted the raw beauty of him. Short sleeves cut high on his biceps hugged the curves like they knew how lucky they were.
“Ready?” Her voice came out high. They’d barely started and already her heartbeat was as frantic as the wings of a caged bird.
Clark gave her a slow, easy nod, grabbing a towel and walking over so he stood next to the tub.
Here goes nothing, she thought as she went to her knees in front of him. At least she could hide her face while she untied his bootlaces.
Undressing the enemy was a callback to ancient custom. A way to show they came together without weapons on their person, concealed or otherwise.
She got his boots off and then his socks, then decided to stand and do his shirt before working herself up to his jeans. Riley needed to remove everything. He couldn’t help.
Even though the air outside was chilly, the residual heat off the water created an almost sauna-like quality in the air. Everything felt a little bit dreamy. The smell of wood smoke, sweet in her nose, comforting and familiar.
By every rational metric, she should have been better prepared to see his chest this time. But as the white cotton of his T-shirt came over his head, as it dropped to the ground, she wasn’t. This was just the beginning, seeing him bare, of what they’d do tonight, but the way looking at him made her feel wasn’t the kind of thing you got over.