Unlike the other families we’ve stayed with, Pestilence won’t allow Rob and Ruth’s bodies to molder in their own homes. Instead I see him out in their backyard, a shovel in his hand, as he digs one large grave.
I walk out there and help him move their bodies into the ground. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge, touching them. The dead feel perverse. Now that whatever animated Ruth and Rob are gone, I find what’s left of them nearly unbearable to touch.
“It’s alright, Sara,” Pestilence says, seeing my unease. “Go inside. I will finish tending to them.”
My gaze travels to the bodies, their forms entwined. I should be thinking of how appropriate it is that they’re buried in each other’s arms, but to me the sight has me swallowing back bile.
Pestilence’s hand clasps my shoulder. “Go inside,” he repeats, gentler than before.
Now I’m the weak one, the one who can’t stomach the sight, and Pestilence is the strong, steady one.
I do as he says and go inside, and I end up making a bath for myself in Rob and Ruth’s master bathroom. The process taking a ridiculously long time since I have to boil water to heat the tub. On the flipside, the lack of electricity gives me an excuse to gather all the candles and lamps I can find and scatter them around the bathroom.
I sigh when I finally slip into the tub, the water just on this side of scalding. I filled the already large basin excessively full because today I’m fucking treating myself.
Right in the middle of my bath, Pestilence comes back inside. He must be looking for me because he eventually makes his way to the master bathroom.
My first thought when I see him is that it’s just not fair to be that good-looking. Even covered with streaks of mud, he’s the most handsome thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
His gaze softens when he sees me. “Are you feeling better?”
I shrug, and the action draws his eyes down. The first time he saw me naked, there was a clinical sort of detachment in his gaze.
Definitely not the case now. The longer he stares, the more wistful his express becomes.
Fuck it.
“Do you want to join me?” I ask because—treating myself.
Rather than responding, he begins to unfasten his armor.
Taking that as a yes.
This has got to be either my best—or my worst—idea yet.
Pestilence’s eyes are on me when he takes off the last of his clothing. He’s perfect, his body flowing from one sculpted contour to the next. And now I’m sure I’m the one wearing the wistful expression.
Pestilence steps into the tub, the water darkening with the mud that rolls off him.
I thought there was plenty of room for the two of us, but as soon as the horseman sits down, I realize just how large he is, even folded up.
My foot is brushing against his hip, and his legs have me pinned in place. All sorts of skin is touching and it is majorly distracting. Idly, he runs his hand up and down my leg, slowly setting me on fire. My foot jerks the moment his knuckles graze the arch of it.
“What are you thinking of, dear Sara?” he finally says.
That I am one bad decision away from jumping your bones.
“Why did you bury them?” I ask instead.
Pestilence picks up my leg, studying it as he places it in his lap. “Let’s not talk about sad things right now.” He deliberately runs a thumb over the arch of my foot, grinning a little when my leg jerks again in response. “Do most humans take baths together?” he asks.
Just the stupid ones.
“No.”
He squeezes my foot. “Then why did you invite me in?”
“Because I like being close to you,” I say, my voice hushed.
His eyebrows raise at the admission. I think we’re both surprised by my honesty.
“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?”
“Probably,” I answer.
His eyes return to my leg. For a long minute he runs his hand up and down it. Every time his fingers move high on my thigh, I tense.
“How does a human choose a mate?” Pestilence asks, out of the blue.
Rob and Ruth clearly got under his skin.
“Well, first,” I say, “we don’t call them mates—well, not usually at least. We have all sorts of names for significant others—boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, soulmate.”
His eyes narrow in a way that suggests he’s taking my words way too seriously.
All the while his hand moves up and down my leg. Up and down. By the seventh stroke, my nipples are fit to cut glass and my core is aching.
Does he know how wild his touch is driving me?
“How does one find a … significant other?”
I pat the water with my hand, anything to distract myself from Pestilence’s attention. It’s already problematic for my hormones, but in light of what we’re talking about … well, he’s reminding me that it’s a lonely world and this homegirl hasn’t gotten any in a long time.
“I don’t know,” I say, “anywhere, I guess. It doesn’t really matter how or where or why you meet. It’s more about how they make you feel.”
“And how should they make you feel?”
The tone of his voice raises my gooseflesh, and I can’t help but peer up at him.
A mistake.
His eyes glitter in a way that is decidedly not helping my heartrate. My eyes keep drifting to his naked torso, his muscled body painfully pleasing to look at.
Focus, Burns.
“Um … they should make you feel good,” I run my hands over the surface of the water. “But again, dating someone—having a girlfriend or boyfriend—is not the same as what Ruth and Rob had. They were soulmates, and as far as I can tell, soulmates bring out the best in each other.” Unlike all my exes, who’d brought out my worst traits.
“They’re the ones you’d want to spend all of your minutes with,” Pestilence adds, connecting this conversation to the earlier one we had. He’s looking at me like he’s having a lightbulb moment.
“Uh, yeah,” I agree. I didn’t realize how carefully he’s been hanging onto my words. “I think when you find the one, you’d want to spend all the minutes you have with them.”
“And how does one know when they’ve found … the one?” Pestilence probes, his gaze searching mine.
I give him a hopeless look. “Beats the hell out of me. I’ve never met a man who’s made me feel like that.”
Liar, a traitorous part of my brain whispers. This conversation is getting dangerously close to Things that Make Sara Burns Wickedly Uncomfortable.
Pestilence scowls at that answer.
Abruptly I rearrange my body, my leg sliding out of the horseman’s grip. At the action, the horseman’s gaze drops to my exposed breasts.
He looks utterly transfixed by the sight of them.
You know, it ain’t half bad, being the first woman this dude has come across. My body is riddled with flaws, yet he stares at it like it was crafted by a master hand.
What would happen if I gave into that look?
It’s alright to care about him—even to love him. Ruth’s words echo through my head.
This isn’t love, but it is something.
Acting on impulse, I move my slick body onto his thighs.
Don’t overthink this.
Leaning forward, I brush a kiss across his lips.
His hands skim up my torso, his thumbs grazing the underside of my breasts. But that’s as far as he’ll go. I bite back an impatient moan. Moving myself onto his lap should be evidence enough that I want things to progress, but Pestilence doesn’t understand cues, and even if he did, I’m not sure the noble horseman would act on this one anyway.
Going to have to spearhead this.
I take his hands, and place them over my breasts.
He sucks in a breath. “Sara—”
“You can touch me,” I say. “I would like it if you touched me.”
His hands remain unmoving.
Okay, if he doesn’t do something in the next few seconds, I might die of mortification.
“Please.” It slips out, completely by accident.
Oh, motherfuckery.
Pestilence lets out a groan.
“I shouldn’t,” he says, his eyes transfixed on my chest, “not when you fling that word at me, and not when you offer up your flesh. But I find … I do not have it in me … to resist this plea.”
Bless all the freaking saints, I nearly climax at the feel of his hands as they kneed my breasts.