I climb out of the bed and my wrists ache as I move them. I shudder, remembering being restrained last night. It’s not something I wish to happen again. One thing I don’t like is not having control over my own body. I need to have my own back, and when I’m restrained that is taken away from me, leaving me completely helpless.
I reach the bathroom and shove the door open, staring in. It’s a gorgeous room and, by the looks of it, barely touched. I eye the spa bath and I feel myself smile. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the most ideal situation, but the fact is that I’ve spent a long time with a dingy shower and very minimal products. This bathroom is loaded with things I’ve never even heard of before.
I shove the door closed and step in. I remove my clothes quickly, then lean over and turn the spa on. I go through the range of soaps, and end up settling on a lavender-scented bubble bath. I pour some in, and the bubbles rise up along with the steam. Mmmm. I step over the side and slowly lower into the hot, fresh water.
I’ll admit in that moment, I do moan. Loudly.
It’s completely called for.
I soak for a solid ten minutes, just enjoying the feeling of the water surrounding me. When I finally sit up, it’s because I know I have to attend to my hair. I take a bottle of shampoo and fill my palm. I wash my hair twice, and then put some conditioner in and lean back down to soak. I’m enjoying the water when I rub my foot up my own leg and have a mild heart attack.
Holy freaking hairy legs.
I sit up, glancing around quickly for a razor. God, I’ve not spent enough time taking care of myself. It’s not something I prioritized on Hendrix’s ship, being that I was always busy with everyone else. I find a razor and shove the plastic wrapping off it before throwing my leg out of the bath and running it over until it’s silky smooth. Then I repeat the process on the next. I attend to my underarms and any other stray hairs that have felt the need to pop up on my body since the last time I eliminated them.
When I’m finished, I climb out and pull on a robe hanging on the door before taking a brush and starting the frustrating process of detangling my hair. I’d been in that stupid cell for a few days, and in that time my hair created its own breeding nest. There are clumps of hair that have stuck together and so many knots my arm hurts after only the first section.
By the time I get through it, it’s flowing down around my shoulderblades and, even though it’s still wet, it looks good enough. I stare at myself in the mirror. My nose is . . . ugh . . . gross. It’s slightly bruised and puffy, and with my puffy red lip beside it, I really don’t look good, but I’m thankful it’s not broken. I pinch my cheeks a few times, trying to get some color into my pale skin. I’m blessed with the kind of skin that burns over the mere thought of the sun.
“Out here!”
I hear pounding on the bathroom door and Dimitri’s angry voice.
He would scare most people, but it would take a lot more than an angry man on a mission to frighten me. I don’t truly believe he will hurt me. I can’t explain how I know that, I just . . . do. I swing the door open to see him standing wearing a pair of black jeans and a tight gray tee. He jerks when he takes notice of me, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I no longer look like I’ve been dragged from the streets.
“Fuck,” he murmurs.
“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” I smile sweetly, walking past him. “You’re such a treat to wake up to.”
I’m almost sure I hear him mumble something about my hair, but I don’t hear enough to know if it’s a good comment or a bad comment. It’s enough to have me running my hands over it to make sure I haven’t missed something. I take a seat on the bed and stare over at him as he picks up a bowl of fruit he’s clearly placed down, and hands it to me. I take it, grateful.
“We need to talk,” he says.
I raise my brows. “Is that your request or mine?”
He glares at me. “Don’t be smart.”
I ignore him, lifting a grape and tossing it toward my mouth. It misses completely and lands on the floor behind me. I give Dimitri a coy smile, and lift another one, attempting it again only to have it end the same way, diving to its death on the floor.
“Where is Hendrix docking?” he asks.
I shrug, picking up a piece of pineapple and popping it into my mouth. “I don’t know. Where do you think he’s docking?”
If you could hear teeth grind, you’d hear Dimitri’s. I hide my smile.
“What makes you think you can smart-mouth me, and I won’t do something about it?”
I look up at him. “Are you going to do something about it?”
“Don’t put it past me.”
“Noted.”
His face hardens and his body is rigid.
“What kind of technology is on Hendrix’s ship?”
I shrug again. “I’m just a whore, remember?”
He slams his hand down on a table beside him. “Just fucking answer my question.”
“Say please,” I say, throwing a grape into my mouth.
“Fuck,” he growls, leaning in closer. “Just. Answer. Me.”
I put another grape into my mouth and bite it. To my horror, it explodes sending a squirt of juice right into his eye. He jerks backwards, rubbing at it. I can’t help it; I don’t want to laugh, but it’s one of those moments—there’s no stopping it. I press my hand over my mouth and smother my giggle.