I hadn’t gotten a taste of the golden mashed potatoes and asparagus I had no idea how he’d cooked in such a short time. Maybe they were leftovers? I really didn’t know and didn’t want to care.
With as much respect as I could muster, I asked as pleasantly as I could, “Is it possible I could wash up?”
He glanced up at me mid-movement with his fork stuck in my steak in the process of transferring to his plate.
His shoulders lifted in what was becoming an automatic shrug. “No point of wasting food.” When I said nothing, he added, “You can. With the weather as it is, we are on reserve, and what water will be available will be freezing cold. You can use the metal buckets to bring water out to warm by the fire.”
The smirk he sported was a slapable offense, but I contained my rage. He expected me to say something like I didn’t know how or ask for his help. He was wrong this time. I could do this. I wasn’t the princess he thought me to be. Okay, maybe I was in ways. But I would prove him wrong.
I ignored the fierce growls rumbling from my stomach as I made my way back to the bathroom with its glorious clawfoot tub. It’s so deep, I knew I could sink into it. But then I glanced at the buckets tucked in the corner and guessed it would take numerous trips with both buckets to fill it. Likely by the time I filled it once and warmed the next round, the water left in the tub would cool.
I bit back a frustrated scream and resolved to enjoy what I could with two buckets of water. I wasn’t exactly a workout guru. Lifting two buckets would have my veins bulging through my skin. But I was determined to walk through the living room like I was carrying air.
Apparently, I didn’t do a good job as a chuckle escaped the damnable man as I passed him lounging on the sofa with his feet propped up.
“Let me help,” he said, his voice full of amusement.
“No, I’ve got this,” I managed to say with only a few wavering words as I set the buckets down near the fire.
“As you wish, Highness.”
What to do next? The way he was sprawled across the sofa didn’t leave me much room to join him from the glance I had. I refused to look his way. Instead, I thought about which toiletries I needed from my bag.
“Do you need a guided tour?” he asked, while I floundered at what to do next.
“No.” Though I’d been firm, I hadn’t exactly yelled the word.
As he cleared his throat, ready for another barb, I spun on my heels and left the room on the hunt for my things as his laughter spilled out.
On my way, I peeked into an open door and noticed my bag on a bed in a small bedroom. He must have moved it from the bathroom at some point. I went inside and paced, needing calm.
Was this a game to him? Had he lied about heating the water? I bet I’d be the butt of every joke he told going forward.
Two could play that game. I left the room and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. Then I stripped. I may not have been the beauty of the year, but my body was banging if all the hoots and hollers I got walking to the beach just yesterday was any indication.
He would bite his tongue when I walked into the living room, towel secured around me when I retrieved the water. Let him choke on his words as he wished he hadn’t been such a dickhead to me. Not that I would have slept with him. But the idea that his tune would change once I walked into the room fueled my steps.
Though his back was to me, he heard me coming and said, “Do you need any—”
His words choked off as I stepped into view. The towel wasn’t big. It barely covered my lady parts, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Then stupidly, I thought about what I was doing. I didn’t know this man and I was alone with him. Teasing probably wasn’t the smartest move. My steps faltered when I noticed the buckets weren’t where I left them.
They now hung from what looked like a large skewer not quite in the hearth, but close enough for the flames to lick the bottom edge on one side.
“Let me help you with that.”
A rustle of fabric and then he was behind me, heat engulfing me from both sides. I crossed my arms just under my chest as big hands moved into view as he lifted the skewer off the bars that held it up. I made the mistake of following the line from his hands to his powerful arms that flexed with ripped muscles. Damn, the man was sex on a stick.