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‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘I’m the one who usually waits on other people, so I suppose it’s…strange when it’s the other way around.’

‘Strange?’ His gaze searched hers. ‘It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?’

As did his question. Damn, he saw too much.

‘I don’t need anyone to wait on me,’ she said firmly. ‘I like taking care of other people.’

He studied her, and again she had the thought that he was seeing much more of her than she wanted him to. She turned away, suddenly vulnerable and feeling more than a little exposed. Probably it was something to do with being in the bath naked with him after just having sex, nothing more.

‘Is that why you’re the manager of the home?’ he asked, resuming his gentle strokes over her thighs. ‘Because you like taking care of people?’

‘Yes,’ she said, wondering why he was asking her all these questions. ‘I know what it’s like to be a kid with nothing and no one, so I wanted to give all the kids that come to the home someone and something. So they can feel it’s like an actual home, and not just a halfway place for the kids no one wants.’

His hand paused, and for a second she could hear her own voice echoing in the bathroom and the sharp note in it, especially in that last sentence.

Libby closed her eyes, muttering a silent curse. Why had she said that? It was much too personal a confession, even if it was true, and she didn’t want him asking her about it.

‘You were never adopted.’ It wasn’t a question.

She bit her lip. If she changed the subject, he’d know that it mattered to her, even though she knew it shouldn’t, and if she said no, she was going to sound like the kid no one wanted on their team.

What does it matter? Do you care what he thinks?

Good question, and no, it didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t care.

‘No, I wasn’t.’ The words came sharper than she’d intended. ‘But that was fine. I stayed because I decided that, since Worthington had ended up being my home, I would make it into a home for others, too.’

He was quiet, the soft cloth stroking over her stomach. Then he said, ‘It doesn’t sound like it was fine.’

But Libby had had enough. ‘I survived,’ she said shortly. ‘What I really want to know is what’s going to happen now.’

* * *

Liberty had gone tense, her body stiff against his. Her thick golden hair was draped across his chest in a long, damp skein and the slide of her silky skin against his was making him hard again. But he’d put a leash on himself. Sex was new to her, so he was going to take it slowly, give her some time to get used to it.

Apparently, he should also be going slowly with questions about her life, if her sudden stiffness was anything to go by. Interesting, though. His questions had been idle ones at first, and then he’d started to feel a flicker of interest, almost against his will.

It was the sex. That had changed something in him, and while he wasn’t sure what exactly, he only knew something was different. It had been good, that was the issue. Very, very good. The way she’d looked up at him, the way her hands had gripped his shoulders as he’d pushed into her, the way she’d moved under him. Her soft moans and cries, and the brilliant gold of her eyes…

He’d never experienced anything like it before. Sex was entirely physical for him, pleasure given and taken, nothing more. Only once had it ever touched him, and that had been when Neve had first invited him into her bed.

He’d been eighteen, in the initial throes of his boyish crush on her, and he’d been a virgin. That first time had been magical—or so he’d thought at the time—and had assumed Neve was as in love with him as he was with her. But he’d been too young and too inexperienced to recognise that Neve hadn’t felt that way about him at all. To her, he was just another young lover, and once she’d had her fill of him, she’d moved on.

It had been twenty years since then and eighteen since the awful evening when he’d proposed to her and she’d refused, laughing at his devastation as she cupped his cheek, telling him not to take it so personally. Afterwards, he’d been furious and hurt, but he’d learned. Sex would only ever be physical for him, too, the way it was for her. He would never give any part of himself away to anyone, not ever again.

But Liberty and how she’d responded to him, so honest and generous with her passion, holding nothing back, had touched a part of him that he’d had on ice for years. He hadn’t been able to help responding to her, making sure he went slow, that he didn’t hurt her, and that she felt nothing but pleasure at his hands. And she had, and it had mesmerised him.

Afterwards, though, he’d had to double-check that he hadn’t hurt her and had realized, even as he’d asked the question, that the thought of hurting her had bothered him a lot. It was an emotional response, and he did not want to have an emotional response. He did not want Liberty to start mattering to him.

He’d been angry then, with himself and how he’d somehow forgotten all about his detachment, and with her for managing to touch a piece of himself that he didn’t want touched. So he’d got up and run her bath to put some distance between them and so he could find his detachment again. He should have just left the room, but he knew that too would hurt her, and even angry, he didn’t want to do that.

Or maybe you just didn’t want to leave her.

Kaius ignored that thought, bringing his attention back to the woman in his arms and the stiffness in her body as he’d said—foolishly as it turned out—that she hadn’t been adopted. He hadn’t thought before he’d said it, because he had no memory of that home, or at least very few memories. But he’d heard the note of hurt in Liberty’s voice as she’d said that, no, she hadn’t been adopted. She’d lied when she’d said it was fine, and now she wanted to change the subject.

A good thing. He was starting to get curious about her, and that was another thing he shouldn’t feel.

He moved the cloth to her stomach, sliding it over her smooth skin. ‘What would you like to happen now?’ he asked.