The master suite's bathroom was a sanctuary of white marble, brushed gold, and the soft, ambient glow of recessed lighting. Outside, the world was waking up to a frantic morning of corporate damage control and security debriefs, but inside this room, the air was heavy with steam and the scent of expensive sandalwood oil.
The massive, circular stone tub, more of a small pool than a bath, was nearly full, the surface of the water shimmering with a layer of silken bubbles.
Darien didn't move away from Amara. He stood between her knees as she sat on the edge of the tub, his hands resting on her waist, his thumbs tracing the line of her hips through the thin, damp silk of her pajama bottoms. He had already discarded his tactical shirt, leaving his broad chest bare. The scar over his heart was a smooth, silvery mark now, no longer glowing but still a stark reminder of the night's events.
"You're shivering," he murmured, his voice a low, dark vibration.
