Page 72 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

Roughly about fifteen minutes later, following a quick shower rinse-off, Gage and I are sitting in his real-estate-level bathtub, doused in an obscene amount of bubbles.

His body is everywhere behind me, all heat and hard muscle. My back rests against his ridiculously carved chest. His pecs shift when he breathes, thick bands of muscle moving beneath my shoulder blades. His stomach feels engineered instead of biological.

I should probably find this intimidating. Instead, I’m so relaxed I may have temporarily misplaced my bones.

Gage’s heavy breaths stir the loose hair beside my temple. With one arm wrapped around my waist like an iron bar, he secures me against him. His other rests against my hip beneath the water, his thumb tracing slow, idle circles over my skin.

Sighing contentedly, I scoop up a clump of bubbles and blow. White foam erupts into the air, scattering across the water and catching on Gage’s forearm. A few bubbles stick directly to the face of one tattooed cat.

His arm tightens around me. “You have hidden talents everywhere.”

I grin. “You’re impressed by this?”

“Princess, I’ve been impressed since prime numbers and a shovel.”

I smile and settle back against him again, watching the remaining bubbles slide over the ink. This close, his tattoos feel like a biography. Cats tucked between croissants, éclairs, cannoli, cupcakes, and tarts. Chickens because they needed representation, too. Even the Julia Child quote winding along his inner arm.

A man has to be secure as hell to look like Gage Cannon and permanently ink all this.

Maybe that’s what I love about him.

Gage can split logs before breakfast, bench-press the weight of a small automobile, and carry me around like an inconvenient purse—then spend four hours perfecting pastry cream and baby-talking six cats.

He watches me and listens, no matter how he wants to make assholes regret messing with me. A man who calls out the bystanders—at the risk of social inconvenience. A man who drives me wild and makes me territorial as fuck.

He kisses the side of my head.

I sigh, letting my lids drift closed again. “Well. That happened.”

A low, throaty chuckle vibrates into my back. “You happy it happened?”

CHAPTER 20

Gage

Jubilee tips her head back until I can see part of her face over my shoulder, then she lifts her chin, covered in its little white bubble beard. “Incandescently happy.”

My mouth curves against her temple. “Including your burning backside?”

She winces, which does tremendous things for my ego. “Especially that.” Her fingers drift through the foam piled around her knees. “But…”

Every muscle in my body firms at once. My palm stays on her hip beneath the water, but my thumb stops moving. “Hate that word.”

She twists enough to stare at me, water sloshing against the tub. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just…are we going to talk about it?”

I lower my chin toward her. “Talk about what?”

She turns back to the bubbles. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

A sound leaves me somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. I pull her back until every warm inch of her settles against my chest again, pressing my mouth into the damp hair above her ear, and inhaling the scent of the vanilla bubble bath. She deserves more from me than this evasiveness.

Regardless, I’m not ready to share certain truths yet. Not until she’s tested in front of the one person on earth I can’t charm, fool, feed, or outlast.

“I can’t get into all of it yet,” I finally tell her. “But…”

Her stomach tightens beneath my forearm. I restart the slow circles against her hip.

“Something happened when I was seventeen. And it shattered my family.” My gaze drifts to the dark glass, though I’m no longer seeing the property. I push the memories back and fill the space with her scent and touch instead. “After that, they needed me more than ever. And I needed something to do with my hands besides wanting to punch shit.”