returned home. Perhaps we can discover the reason for your newfound fear."
Anya's smile faded. "Perhaps I do not want to know."
"If you do not understand the fear, you will never be rid of it."
Anya reached out to him. Her soft fingers lightly brushed his cheek. "You need to shave, marido ."
It was her way of neatly changing the subject, and Julian allowed her to get away with it. "I imagine I do."
"And your hair is such a mess." She very briefly and lightly ruffled his hair, using both of her hands. "You probably should have a haircut, but I like it as it is."
"I usually get so lost in my research that I don't even think about getting a haircut when I should. Sometimes Aunt Helen will remind me."
"I like it as it is," she said again, and he believed her.
If she continued to look at him like this, he might never cut it again. He wished he could tease Anya about her messy hair, that he could casually run his fingers through the red strands without being overcome with the desire to ravish her.
Anya's eyes were so open and real. He was struck with the notion that she would never lie. That she was incapable of deceit. What a rare woman she was, if that were true.
"I have not always been kind to you," she said, "as you have been to me. You are a good man, Julian DeButy."
No, I am a common man, inches away from attacking my wife . "I try to be."
"Last night you were..." Her eyes went a little misty. "Wonderful. How can I ever thank you?"
He should take advantage of this opportunity and ask her to stop trying to seduce him. Or to quit throwing things when she did not get her way. Or to come back into his arms and help him break all his promises to himself. He might ask her to wear clothing when they were alone, to quit smiling at him, to stop smelling so good. But he didn't.
"No thanks are necessary. I'm just glad to see that you're feeling better this morning."
Anya bound from the bed. What magnificent legs she had! They seemed to be made for bounding. And... other things.
"I am feeling much better. Shave and get dressed, and we will go down to breakfast together. I am starving!"
When she was gone, Julian collapsed back onto his bed.
* * *
One amenity of her new home Anya had learned to love was the bathtub. Large and deep and situated in its own room on the second floor, it was Anya's idea of decadence. There were fat towels and scented oils and hot water, and she could sit in the tub for as long as she wished.
Julian usually bathed late at night, after Anya had gone to bed. She suspected he did so in the hopes that she would leave him be. And she had, up until this point.
The night before, when he had held her as the storm raged, something had happened. Her husband had comforted her, tried to take away her fear. That was the action of a kind man, a man who cared, at least a little, for his wife. He could have accepted her assurance that she was not afraid and sent her back to her room, but he had not. Instead he had held her, sheltered her.
She had begun to lose hope where Julian was concerned. He did want her, but he was doing his best to prove that his blasted morals were stronger than his desire.
But something had changed as he had held and comforted her. They were closer than they had been. They were one step closer to being man and wife in truth, as well as in name.
So tonight as he bathed, she opened the door on the cozy room where the tub was located and stepped inside, wearing nothing but his confiscated nightshirt and a smile.
Julian almost jumped out of the water, then thought better of such a move. Anya tried to peer beneath the water, as nonchalantly as possible, and Julian laid his washcloth across it. The cloth floated and obscured her view. "What are you doing here?"
"I have come to wash your back," she said sweetly.
He held aloft a long-handled brush made just for that purpose.
"But is it not a wife's duty to see to the well-being of her husband?"
"Of course, but..."
"I am trying to be
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley