Chapter 2

A thick cloud of white steam rolled out of the bathroom, carrying the sharp scent of cheap Dial soap.

Through the steam, Clara's eyes widened in absolute shock. She had been married to him for a lifetime, yet she never knew he looked like this.

Cade stood facing the small, cracked mirror, his broad, muscular back to the door. He was a soldier. His tanned, bronze skin was pulled taut over a ridiculously muscular frame. Broad shoulders, a sculpted chest, and a rigid core—he looked like a Greek god carved out of solid rock. Water droplets clung to his body, tracking down the deep groove of his spine.

Clara's face flushed crimson. She must have been completely blind in her past life to be disgusted by this man!

At the sound of the door opening, his entire body went rigid.

He moved with terrifying speed. He snatched a faded gray towel from the rack and spun around, wrapping it haphazardly around his narrow waist. His dark, sharp eyes locked onto her. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Get out." Cade's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. It carried the absolute authority of a military sergeant.

Clara didn't move. Her eyes dropped to his chest. There it was. The jagged, raised pink scar slashing diagonally across his left pectoral muscle. In her past life, she had called it disgusting. She had refused to look at it.

Now, her chest ached so badly she could barely breathe. She wanted to press her lips to that ruined flesh.

Instead of stepping back, Clara stepped forward into the humid, cramped bathroom.

Cade's eyes widened a fraction. He took a subconscious half-step back, his bare shoulders hitting the cold, wet tiles of the shower wall. He thought she was here to throw another tantrum.

"I said get out, Clara," he warned, his voice rising in volume. "This isn't the place for one of your tantrums."

Clara ignored him. She looked down at the floor, spotting a puddle of soapy water near the drain. Without a second thought, she planted her right foot directly onto the slickest patch of tile and let her ankle give way.

A short gasp escaped her lips as her center of gravity vanished. She pitched forward, falling directly toward him.

Cade didn't think. His military reflexes bypassed his brain. His massive hands shot out, catching her by the upper arms just before her face smashed into the sink.

Clara crashed into his solid, burning-hot chest. The impact knocked the breath out of her. His skin smelled like clean soap and intense male sweat. It was intoxicating.

The moment his bare hands registered the heat of her skin, he tried to let go. He recoiled like he had touched a live wire.

Clara didn't let him. Her hands flew up, her fingers digging fiercely into the thick, corded muscles of his biceps. She held on with a desperate, white-knuckled grip. Her forearm throbbed violently where she had scraped it earlier that morning running from a local creep in town, but she ignored the pain completely, clinging to Cade like a lifeline.

"Ow," she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut and contorting her face in pain. "My ankle... I twisted my ankle."

Cade froze. His hands hovered inches from her waist, unsure where to put them. Suspicion warred with deeply ingrained protective instinct in his dark eyes.

Clara sagged against him, letting her full body weight rest against his chest, forcing him to bear her load. The physical distance between them was completely erased. She tilted her head back and looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, totally devoid of the venom he was expecting.

Cade's breath hitched. His Adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat. He looked trapped.

"I can't walk," Clara lied smoothly, her voice a soft, pitiful whisper. "You have to help me to the bed."

Cade let out a harsh breath through his nose. He looked down at her, his jaw set like granite. He clearly didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to risk dropping her on the hard tile.

Slowly, reluctantly, he slid one massive, calloused arm around her small waist.

"Lean on me," he ordered gruffly.

He carefully guided her out of the steamy bathroom. He kept his body as rigid as a board, trying to minimize the friction between them.

Clara rested her head against his shoulder as they walked. She buried her face in the crook of his neck.

A tiny, hidden smile touched her lips.