“There’s soap and shampoo on that shelf there,” he was saying, adjusting the temperature. “I’ll get you a towel—”
Iris’s hand on his arm brought him back around. Roman turned to look at her, mist shining in her hair. Slowly, she reached up to touch his leather braces, slipping them off his shoulders. He didn’t breathe; his heart felt like it was tethered to a string, tugging deep in his chest. Like he was fastened to her every movement, her every word.
Iris began to unbutton his shirt but she paused halfway down, drawing her lower lip between her teeth.
He stiffened, wondering if the flash of his pale skin was making her hesitate. If she kept going, she would eventually see all his sharp angles. The concave curve of his stomach. The prominence of his ribs. The scars that marred his leg. There was never enough food among Dacre’s forces, and hunger had become Roman’s closest companion. His scars? A map that he traced, over and over, in his loneliness and solitude.
Shame welled in his throat. Another emotion he couldn’t describe coaxed a flush across his skin. He was about to take her hand when Iris said, “I just realized something. You already showered tonight, didn’t you?”
Roman let out a huff of air. Relief softened his bones, made him lean closer to her. “I did, but I can still join you, if you want.”
She smiled. There was a gleam in her eyes as her deft fingers continued their path, down the buttons to his waist.
“I’d like that, Kitt.”
* * *
Five minutes later, Roman’s palms brimmed with shampoo. The air was warm, the shower close to scalding as the water rushed down their bodies in rivulets. But Iris continued to nudge the lever more and more to the left, as if she wanted her water to feel like fire.
Roman, skin splotched as if he were sunburned, would let her do anything, though.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
Iris did, her nose scrunching as water beaded on her face. She gasped when Roman began to wash her hair, kneading the shampoo until it foamed. Again and again, he drew his fingers through her locks, admiring how long and dark they looked when wet. A deep brown with a touch of amber, like wildflower honey.
“This is why you smelled so good at the office,” Iris sighed.
Roman began to rinse the shampoo, pleased when she groaned. “Did I?”
“The electricity could be out on the winter solstice, and I would know the moment you stepped into the Gazette. I hated you for it too.”
He grinned as he drew circles on her back with the bar of soap. The scent of evergreen and meadow grass spread across the eaves of her shoulders. The curve of her spine. “And look where that disdain has brought you.”
“I would have laughed if you had revealed my fate to me then.”
“I know,” he said.
Iris was quiet. The water continued to fall, filling the chamber with a mesmerizing drone, when she turned to face him. His gaze dropped, following the line of her body to her legs, where his attention stopped and held.
Roman had noticed when he had eased down her stockings. The bruises and scabs on her knees. And he hadn’t told her, but he had watched her run through the meadow of Hawk Shire from the second-story window. He had seen with his own disbelieving eyes how she had dodged the gunshots. How a motorcar’s headlights had cut through the darkness, carrying her away.
Run, Iris.
He had felt those kilometers like an illness, spreading through him. Blood to bone to organ. The distance that waxed like the moon. The wondering and the worries as to where she was going and if he would ever see her again.
Roman set down the soap.
He sank to his knees before her, his hands touching those tender marks on her skin. They told him she was strong and brave, but also that she was his. Their souls weren’t mirrors but complements, constellations that burned side by side.
I want you to see me, he had once written to her. I want you to know me.
He pressed his face to her legs. He felt her bruises as if they were his own and he traced them with his lips, tasting the water on her skin. His blood was pounding, hot and fast. A summer thunderstorm in his veins, and yet the moment Iris touched his hair, Roman’s mind stilled.
He looked up at her face, rosy and dark-eyed.
“I was so worried,” Iris whispered.
“And what had you worried?”
“That you and I would never have another moment like this again.”
Roman swallowed. He could have said a hundred things, but he realized she was shaking. He realized he was as well.
“You’re trembling,” he said. “Is the water too cold? Do you want me to stop?”