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soap ran down the ridges in rivulets, between his ass cheeks, down his muscled thighs and calves.
    He wasn’t shivering. I’d stopped too, and now my cheeks were heated. I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not that he appeared not to have tried to look at me. Which was ridiculous after all I’d been through.
    Then again, Charlie and I had barely consummated our marriage.
    Mathias was signing something, with his back still to me. Of course, I had no real idea of what he was saying but he obviously knew I was looking and that was the point.
    I turned away and noted he’d left me sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I put both on hurriedly, ducking out of his sight when I heard the shower shut off. I was back at the van, sitting inside, my bare feet tucked up under me when he strode out with a towel around his waist, rubbing his hair dry with a second one.
    He was completely comfortable with his nudity. I could see why. I wouldn’t have minded if he stayed naked, and my cheeks flushed again for feeling that way.
    Where was this coming from? Before today, I might not have fit into my other world, but I’d never have thought that being in this one would make me feel so free. Not after what happened with the Lords of Vengeance. But that, like my time in the bunker, my time with my family and Charlie, seemed like a lifetime ago, and I was ready to live in the here and now, where I was safe.
    Besides, Mathias was going to think I was an idiot if I sat here, silently staring at him for much longer.
    “I’m sorry.” I pointed to his arm and he shrugged. He’d wrapped a big piece of cloth he’d torn from his T-shirt around it. It was black, so I couldn’t see the blood but I knew I’d hit my mark. I picked up the first-aid kit that had been on the seat next to me. “Will you let me clean it? It’s the least I can do.”
    He nodded. But he didn’t move closer to me. He let me move nearer to him and I wondered if they even made gentlemen anymore these days. The world around me had sunk into such a barbaric level that to even see a man who actually still respected women—or did a good job of pretending—was a rare thing.
    I pushed my hair behind my ears and dug into the box, grabbing the gauze and peroxide and triple antibiotic cream.
    When I looked up at him, he shook his head. “You’re trying to tell me I don’t have to do this.”
    He nodded.
    “Yes, I do. It’s the least I can do, after you saved me. Twice.”
    He pondered that for a second, then typed, And to think , at one point , you hadn’t even known if you’d wanted to live.
    As I read, he reached out to brush my scars lightly with his thumbs. He wasn’t ignoring them, choosing instead to acknowledge my pain. Whether or not he understood it didn’t matter. He accepted it as a part of me.
    “I don’t...I can’t talk about it. Not yet, okay?” But I wanted to, felt like letting it all spill out.
    He didn’t push, simply mouthed, Okay.
    “I’ll bet people tell you things all the time—secret things—because they think it’s safe. That you’re safe.”
    What do you think?
    “That you’re the most dangerous person I’ve ever met. That anyone who thinks you’re safe is stupid.”
    You don’t seem to mind.
    “I never realized that dangerous might be exactly what I’ve been missing.”
    And that scares you , that you might like it.
    “Maybe. And maybe there’s such a thing as too much safety.” I paused. “I will tell you why I tried to kill myself.”
    You think that will drive me away?
    “Fair warning.”
    Let’s just say I don’t scare easily.
    “I don’t think I do either. Not anymore.” With that, I untied the cloth from his arm. And then I stared for a long moment, then blinked and looked harder.
    I’d stabbed him right in the middle of a snake tattoo, a tattoo along his biceps tat seemed to undulate with the muscles of his arm. The snake looked exactly like the one he’d killed today. When I touched the tattoo, he jumped a