Page 74 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

“I like making people happy, Jules. Always have. I like watching someone’s face light up because I gave them five good minutes in the middle of a shitty day. But your smile, Princess, is my favorite.”

She goes perfectly still. Then, she turns, water rolling over my stomach as she shifts to face me, bubbles gathering between us while her knees settle on either side of my hips. Nothing about it is meant to be sexual. It’s intimate. There’s no helping my dick, which still interprets it as sexual, but she doesn’t flinch when it pulses beneath her.

She studies me with those blue-violet eyes, a soft smile growing. Yeah, that does things to a man, this man. She leans down and presses her lips to the cupcake tattoo over my left pec. “You’re welcome to my smile anytime.”

For several seconds, I forget how language works. My palm rises to cradle her cheek. “You have thirty-eight smiles. And I love them all.”

“Leave it to you to catalogue my smiles.”

“I have an extensive filing system.” She tilts her head to kiss my palm. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Her grin widens. “Right back at ya, handsome Cannon.” A laugh punches out of me, and her nose wrinkles. “That was really corny, wasn’t it?”

“Catastrophically.”

“Can we keep it a secret?”

I wink. “No promises, Princess.”

“Traitor.”

I drag my thumb beneath her cheekbone. She shivers, then releases a long breath. “Well. In the interest of sharing…my life fell apart as a teenager too.”

I say nothing and wait, as she waited for me. I already know the headline from our first breakfast: her father disappeared, and she started hacking because she couldn’t find him.

She traces the edge of a tattoo on my chest. “I had a really good life growing up, Gage. I’m sure you found some of the pictures.”

I nod. “Mm. You rode horses.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile lingers. “I loved them. The first time I got thrown, I never wanted to ride again. Dad made me understand how I’d held the reins wrong, and that she’d been scared, too. Then, he made me get back up.”

I remember those photos. A girl laughing with her whole body before life taught her to make herself smaller.

She rests one forearm over my shoulder and draws closer. “I started thinking about future me. Whenever life sucked, I’d imagine her looking back. Not some perfect version. Just me, alive and on the other side of pain.” Her fingers trail along my collarbone. “I’d tell myself I didn’t have to be fearless. I didn’t even have to win. I just had to get up one more time, so she’d have the chance to exist.”

Fuck.

These are the moments when I understand why I’m obsessed with this woman. Except, obsessed doesn’t feel strong enough.

“My mom was crazy-stupid in love with my dad,” she continues. “Which made sense. He was handsome and charming and the most patient man I’ve ever known.” Her eyes flick to mine. “Well. Other than you.”

I rub my thumb along her arm. “Living with you is a masterclass in patience.”

She blows a raspberry against my shoulder. “Rude.”

“Accurate.”

She snorts, warm breath against my wet skin, before her voice softens. “He traveled constantly for work. Enterprise systems consulting. Networks, infrastructure, security. Corporate computer stuff.”

“That explains you.”

“Some of me.” Her lashes flutter. “He taught me how to build my first computer. Command-line tricks I thought were magic when I was a kid. And whenever he traveled, he brought me things home. Postcards, keychains, little snow globes. And most of all…maps. I still have them in a treasure box in my closet.”

Her voice thins. The bathwater has cooled, and a tremor runs through her shoulders, from the temperature or the memory. Either way, she’s done enough talking while exposed everywhere else.

I press a kiss to her forehead. “Come on. Water’s cooling.”

“I’m fine.”