Sylvie was pouting. She was depressed. Could her life be any worse? She felt like shit…more specifically shit that had been run over by a Mack truck. She wanted to strangle the nurses and medical staff. Their cheerfulness was getting on her nerves. They all came bouncing into her room with bright, saccharine smiles asking ‘How are we today?’ We are crappy! But thanks for asking! ‘Are we feeling better?’ No! We are not! Now get the hell out and leave me alone! She was sick to death of being poked and prodded by these people. Just go away and let me die in peace! How could she get well when someone was shoving a thermometer in her mouth or ear every two hours. Or taking her blood pressure. Or putting an ice cold stethoscope on her chest or her back to check her lungs. Or making her breathe into a spirometer every hour on the hour. They told her it was to help her learn to breathe deeply so she wouldn’t get pneumonia again. In addition to everything else, she was given nebulizer treatments every four hours throughout the day and night. They kept saying they wanted her to rest and get well, but then made sure she couldn’t by waking her up every time she managed to nod off. Was it any wonder she’d turned into a cranky bitch?
She’d picked up something in the hospital. Sylvie’d felt fine Christmas Eve, but by the next morning she was sick. Her chest hurt and she’d developed a terrible, hacking cough. One of the physician assistants diagnosed it as bronchitis. A doctor later confirmed it. After sending a sputum sample to the lab, they found it was a bacterial rather than viral infection and started treating her with more antibiotics. After two weeks and no improvement she spiked a fever. The nurse on duty that morning said she heard rails in her lungs, so Sylvie was taken to the hospital for an X-ray and diagnosed with pneumonia. That was nearly a month ago. Her ass was sore from staying in bed day in and day out. She’d missed Christmas! No big tree with shimmering lights, no presents, no turkey dinner. Connor said he was going to get her a tree for her room, but the Indian doctor who came in that day had vetoed it. He wanted her room kept quiet and peaceful so she’d get maximum rest. He thought putting up a tree would be too much excitement for her. Prick! He was Indian; probably a Hindu or a Moslem. He didn’t care if he ruined her Christmas. He didn’t give two shits about Christmas! It wasn’t his holiday! If he really wanted her to rest why didn’t he tell the nurses and staff to stop bugging her! She’d missed New Year’s Eve too. No noise makers, no sipping champagne, no kiss at midnight. She was put to bed at 7:30 that evening. She’d been surly that day, demanding to stay up to watch the ball drop in Times Square. When Connor said no, she reacted rather badly. After calling him every name in the book, she picked up her spirometer and threw it at him, the plastic gizmo bouncing off his head. He was not amused by her ‘theatrics.’ Because she’d ‘behaved badly’ she was put to bed extra early. The man was an insufferable bully!
She hated, hated, hated being sick! Her hair felt greasy and stringy. She’d asked at least 100 times if she could take a shower and wash her hair; but her doctors, a team of pulmonary specialists Connor brought in, refused to allow it. She wanted to shave her legs and her underarms. She was hairy enough to be mistaken for an ape. But it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. As if the fur covering her legs wasn’t enough, her unibrow was back. She could feel hairs sprouting above the bridge of her nose. She hadn’t tweezed since before Thanksgiving. She probably looked like she had a fuzzy caterpillar there now! Yuck! No wonder Connor wasn’t interested in making out with her. That and the fact that she kept coughing in his face.
Connor had turned into a tyrant! He never smiled anymore; all he did was issue orders and threaten. She looked like hell; but, quite frankly, so did he. His face was etched with worry lines that hadn’t been there before. He had dark circles under his eyes. For a man who seemed so calm, cool, and in control all the time, he’d developed a disconcerting habit of running around like his hair was on fire. Every time she coughed or sneezed, snorted or burped, he acted like it was a medical emergency and would mobilize everyone in the house and demand they do something. He attended her physical therapy sessions during the day; and at 7:30 every evening, he had her do some of the leg and hand exercises before lights out at 8 pm. Connor wouldn’t allow her a TV, books, or a laptop. He said she needed rest and didn’t want her straining her eyes. Bullshit! Her eyes were fine! They kept the room so dim she could barely see her hand in front of her face. They told her it was more restful that way. Nonsense! If they turned up the damn lights there wouldn’t be a problem.
Sylvie looked through the open door to Connor’s office. ‘Old Eagle Eye’ wasn’t standing guard at his desk. She hadn’t noticed him get up. Her eyes darted from his desk to the bathroom door. Should she make a break for it? She didn’t want to get her ass paddled again. For a man who said he was sooooo concerned about her. Who wanted her to remain quiet because she was sooooo sick; he was certainly not adverse to setting her ass on fire. She’s practically at death’s door! But what’s he doing? He’s buying stuff to beat her butt with! He referred to his new toy as ‘the persuader.’ She had no idea where he got it…probably Doms R Us. All she knew was that she hated it. It was a piece of leather no more than 10 inches long by maybe 3 1/2 inches wide. It looked innocuous enough; but boy, did that thing sting. Because she was sick he never gave her more than five smacks on each butt cheek, but that was plenty to give her ‘an attitude adjustment’ as he liked to call it. The worse thing about it was that he wasn’t shy about threatening her with it in front of the nurses and other staff. It was downright mortifying. No one batted an eye when he did it. Apparently, threatening to beat an unruly patient was nothing out of the ordinary, an acceptable sickroom management technique. They probably thought she deserved it. She wasn’t exactly making their jobs any easier. She was a difficult patient: moody and morose, crabby and confrontational, constantly complaining and uncooperative, a real grouch. But then why wouldn’t she be? She was pretty sure that after two months on her back in bed, she had a right to be pissed. Her butt felt like it was growing roots.
How could they expect her to get well stuck in this room? The air was stale and stagnant. She hadn’t smelled fresh air in nearly two months. If she asked them to open the drapes and crack the windows, they looked at her like she’d asked them to commit high treason. She was supposed to lay here all day smelling the nauseating stench of ‘Eau De Bed Pan,’ pus, piss, sweat, and the aroma of a very itchy yeast infection, mingled with the ever present fragrance of medicines and disinfectants. They tried to mask the smell by spraying deodorizer around the room, but that only made it worse. It turned her stomach! She’d complained to Connor, telling him she had to get out of here. That she couldn’t breathe because of the smell and because the heavy drapes, carpets, and intricately carved doors and moldings were covered in dust and ‘inhibiting her recovery.’ She felt bad about throwing the maids and housekeeping staff under the bus. They did their best to keep everything neat and tidy. They dragged the Persian carpets out every morning, to who-knows-where, to vacuum them out of earshot so she wouldn’t be disturbed. They used all manner of dusters to ferret out every dust bunny, every speck of grime and grit. Connor said Sylvie was being hypercritical and that the room was immaculate. To prove his point, he ran a pure, white hankie over the baseboard molding. He smirked when he held up the pristine cloth and waved it in front of her. No dust. He swore the room smelled fine to him. But just to make sure the air was clean and to her liking he’d had the staff put in an air purifier and some kind of antimicrobial humidifier.
She was feeling better. Her fever was down. She wasn’t coughing much anymore. Why couldn’t she get out of bed? Just because ‘Mr. Know-it-all’ said she couldn’t? He was the instigator of all this. Didn’t doctors want their patients out of bed as soon as possible so they wouldn’t get bed sores and blood clots or something like that? She was certain that left to their own devices the doctors wouldn’t be nearly so strict. She was sure it was all Connor’s doing. Damn control freak! He was turning her into a bedridden invalid! But what was she going to do about it? She straightened her shoulders. If she wanted to take a shower…she would! Just let him try to stop her! She boldly threw back the covers, sat up, and put one leg over the side of the bed.
‘And just where do you think you’re going,’ a stern voice demanded.
She looked up to see Connor eyeing her reproachfully. Don’t let him intimidate you! ‘I’m getting up,’ she announced, giving him a mutinous look. ‘I’m feeling better and I’ve decided to take a shower.’
‘Oh you have, have you?’ he bristled.
‘Yes, I have!’ she responded haughtily as she swung her other leg over the edge. ‘I’ve asked nicely, but since you’ve ignored my requests, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.’
‘Really?’
He didn’t sound very happy with her, but so what. ‘Yes!’ Go for it! She touched her feet to the floor and pushed herself up to a standing position. So far so good. She looked at him, smirked, and took her first step. Then the second. Then the third. This was going well! Her knee was a little stiff, but it was working just fine.
‘Sylvie get back in that bed…now!’ he ordered.
‘No!’ She took another two steps.
‘What was that? Did I just hear you tell me no? Are you challenging me?’ he growled.
‘Yup, you heard right. I want to take a shower. I don’t see why that’s such a problem. I’ve been waiting a month. I can’t wait any longer. I itch! I reek! I’m hairy! Now if you’ll excuse me.’ She took another few tentative steps. If he was going to try to drag her back to bed she wanted to make sure she was out of reach and could make a run for it. Well, not a run exactly, maybe a gimpy hobble. At any rate, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
Connor couldn’t believe the cheek of the little imp. He was trying hard not to crack a smile. She was always at her most endearing when she was busting his balls. ‘I believe I told you to get back in bed. Do you know what happens to little girls who don’t do what they’re told?’
‘They get to take a shower.’ she muttered, continuing to make her way toward the bathroom.
‘Sylvie…’
‘You’re not being fair. I can walk. See!’ She took another couple of steps. ‘And I have no stitches or holes that aren’t supposed to get wet. So why can’t I have a shower?’
He hated to admit it, but she was right. She was walking well enough to get around and her cough was certainly better. But still, she was being blatantly disobedient. He couldn’t let her get away with that could he? Connor pondered his options. Hell, if he’d been confined to bed for two months, he’d be climbing the walls too. In fact, he’d be a damn sight more cantankerous than Sylvie was. The doctors had said she could get up a couple of days ago. But he’d overruled them. She’d been so sick he didn’t want to chance it. He’d decided to proceed with an abundance of caution, at least until Friday. That was only the day after tomorrow. Connor knew what he should do. He should take her over his knee and paddle her ass for being contrary and defiant. But… Connor looked at those big blue eyes of hers and sighed. She looked both frightened and hopeful. He knew when he was licked. He was turning into a fucking milquetoast! He strode over to her and before she could get away he lifted her up into his arms. She stared at him, her bottom lip beginning to wobble nervously. ‘Fine. A shower it is then!’ Sylvie looked shocked at first and then gave him the biggest, most beautiful smile.
Connor took her into the bathroom and sat her down on the oversized vanity. ‘Alright, so what do we need?’ He opened the door underneath and began to rummage around. ‘Soap? How about some coconut and almond body wash? Sounds delicious. You like this stuff right?’ he asked, holding up the bottle.
She nodded excitedly.
‘We’ll need some shampoo.’ He peered into the cabinet. ‘Well, what do you know? We even stock your brand.’ He looked up to see her grinning from ear to ear. Connor twisted off the top and sniffed. ‘Smells like a pina colada. You’re going to smell good enough to eat,’ he paused to give her a sexy wink. ‘And hey, we have a matching bottle of conditioner. What else? How about a sponge and a shower scrub? That should about do it.’
‘I need a razor,’ she said nervously, not wanting to ruin the moment by focusing his attention on her hairy pits.
‘What do you need a razor for?’
He wasn’t going to make this easy was he? ‘My legs. My underarms. I’m growing a fur coat.’
‘I doubt that very much.’ He lifted her nightgown to look at her legs. ‘It’s not that bad,’ he said as she slapped his hand away. Bad move on her part. He grabbed her hand and lifted it up to peer at her underarms. She turned red as a beet. ‘So you’ve sprouted a little,’ he teased. ‘What’s the big deal? Some men find armpit hair a big turn on. It’s a known fact that most Frenchwomen don’t shave their armpits and they’re considered the sexiest, most passionate women on the planet. Besides, are you sure you’re ready to handle a razor just yet? Can you hold it properly? I wouldn’t want you to get cut.’
‘I’m pretty sure I can,’ she tried to assure him. He didn’t look convinced.
‘Hold on a second. Let me go talk to the nurse on duty and the housekeeper.’
Sylvie’s shoulders sunk. She didn’t want her personal hygiene ritual to become a group effort. She was fully capable of washing herself and shaving her legs. They’d removed the latest round of stitches from her right hand. The infection was finally gone. It was still sore and she couldn’t make a fist yet. But she could bring her fingers together to hold things. If she could hold a spoon and a fork and feed herself without making too much of a mess, she should be able to hold a razor. She sat there for five minutes, wondering whether he’d forgotten about her. Then he appeared, holding up something small and silver in his hand.
‘I’ve secured the latest thing in good grooming.’
Sylvie looked at him quizzically.
‘You can take this baby into the shower with you. It’s an electric razor that works on rechargeable batteries. I got it from the houseman, Mr. Trevor. He’s got a stockpile of them for guests.’ Connor laid it down next to her and disappeared into the shower enclosure with an armful of soap, shampoo and other items. A second later, the water turned on. He stripped off his shirt as he came out.
‘Come on, let’s get you naked,’ he said, smiling as he lifted her down off the counter. He pulled her nightgown up and over her head in one motion. He looked at her and was startled to see the panic in her eyes. As though baring her had rekindled horrifying memories; feelings of anxiety, fear, and desperation. Fuck! He was behaving like an oaf. No grabbing her! No manhandling her! He had to take things one step at a time. He’d seen a profound change in Sylvie. She still loved to cuddle up against him. But if his hand inadvertently brushed her nipple or inner thigh, Sylvie just about jumped out of her skin. She didn’t like to be touched. The muscles in his jaw tightened when he thought of that bastard and what he’d done to his little Sylvie. She seemed frightened of men now, Connor included. She cringed when male doctors came near her bed. He had to work to win back her trust. Sylvie had to be treated like a fragile flower. She needed to be nurtured. Gently stroked and tended. He’d always been a selfish bastard when it came to sex. His needs, his desires came first. When he wanted a woman he took her…hard. He couldn’t do that with Sylvie. She needed him to be gentle and tender, loving and kind. He wanted to be all that for her. Sylvie bowed her head, not wanting to look at him. She was trembling. Her eyes fell on the scars on her belly and breasts. Her hands quickly moved to cover them. Connor stood helpless for a moment, then gently lifted her chin so she’d be forced to look at him. He didn’t say a word as he bent his head and allowed his lips to ever so softly meet hers. He could feel her stiffen and then relax as his lips melded with hers. So pliant! So warm! The tip of his tongue licked the seam of her mouth and she tentatively opened to him. She seemed hesitant at first. Connor wanted to crush her against his chest. To let his passion engulf her. But knew he needed to go slow. His tongue danced slowly around hers, encircling it in a warm, wet embrace. Then began gliding in and out of her mouth. His actions more playful than insistent. He started to suckle her bottom lip. Sylvie’s arms fell away from her breasts and belly and moved to embrace him. He pulled her close and began to cover her face and neck with kisses. So gentle they felt like feathers brushing her skin. Sylvie began to respond. He could hear her little sighs of pleasure, the subtle change in her breathing. He let her take the lead. She began kissing him. They started out sweet, but before he knew it, she was blistering his lips with fire. Her tongue delved between his lips and plunged into his mouth. She moaned as she licked and tickled his tongue. Feeling giddy as they dueled. First her tongue ravished his mouth, then his tongue plundered hers. Sylvie could feel yearning stirring inside her. She wasn’t the only one. Connor’s erection was pressing into her. She reached down and gently rubbed the prominent bulge in his pants. He jumped back as though scalded. ‘None of that young lady,’ he said firmly.
Sylvie frowned at him. What a tease! First he gets her hot and bothered and then… She suddenly bit her bottom lip. They weren’t lovers anymore. They were just friends. He was doing his duty and that was that. Suddenly embarrassed again, her hands moved to cover the scars, but he intercepted them. The scars were fading, but he didn’t know if they’d ever go away completely. He wouldn’t have her be ashamed of her body because of them. She had to understand that the scars didn’t matter. She was his Sylvie and she was beautiful both inside and out.
He peeled off his pants and underwear and smiled when he caught her sneaking a peek at his cock.
‘You’re going to shower with me?’
‘Of course I am. This is your first time out of bed. You’re still weak and unsteady on your feet. I don’t want you in there alone. It’s too risky. I wouldn’t want you to slip and fall.’ He couldn’t help noticing that her nipples had hardened. This was going to be tough. Him naked. Her naked. He wanted to sink into her warmth and spend himself inside her, but…
Sylvie’s eyes were fixated on his cock. It looked enormous. Had it always been that big? So thick. So long. It looked like chiseled marble. Maybe he wasn’t as turned off by her and her scars as she thought. Her mouth began to water. She wanted to taste him.
‘Madame your shower awaits,’ he said, grabbing the razor and putting a supportive arm around her.
The glass doors of the enclosure were already covered in steam as he ushered her in. He placed her in front of a pulsating stream of water. It felt wonderful! She began swaying and turning, letting the warm water caress her. First her belly and breasts, then her back and bottom. It was heaven! Something warm and slick began stroking her back. First it moved up and down. Then it began rubbing circles on her skin. From the nape of her neck, to her shoulders, down her back to the arch of her spin and then to her bottom. She could feel the sponge working its way into the crease of her backside. She shivered as it played over her shy rosette. It slipped between her legs and began rubbing her sex. The smell of coconuts filled the air. The feeling was so sensual, so erotic as it slid back and forth over her clit and plump pink lips. A little soap and water and she felt like a new woman. Hallelujah! The itch was gone! But she wasn’t going to tell him that. Not going to go there, she told herself. He took the nozzle from its holder and rinsed her clean. Paying particular attention to her bottom hole and the little nubbin at the apex of her thighs. Satisfied with his work, he turned her around. He washed her breasts with tender care, using his fingers to circle and pluck her nipples. They were hard as pebbles under his ministrations. He wanted them nice and clean, as clean as could be, so he repeated the process again and again, till she thought she’d go out of her mind with need. The sponge glided over her belly to the curve of her hips and down to her hair-covered mound. He made peaks of suds as he scrubbed and massaged her. Connor’s finger dipped into her crevice and flicked her little pink pearl. Sylvie moaned. Good. She was responding. He couldn’t have her yet, he’d promised himself no sex until she was healed and ready, both physically and psychologically, but he intended to pleasure her. With his fingers. With his mouth. Sylvie moaned again. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself. All in good time. Connor rinsed her off slowly, taking pleasure in watching the water cascade down her body, caressing her curves.
He looked at her breasts and smiled. Thank God the burns were fading. They were hardly noticeable. In addition to the prescribed unguents, one of the foreign-born plastic surgeons on staff at Ellenville had insisted they also apply vitamin E oil and cocoa butter to the affected areas several times a day. It worked. The burns were still slightly discolored, but there was no disfiguring puckering or indentations. He loved her breasts. So pert and firm. Succulent rosy-colored berries, waiting to be devoured. Connor directed the spray at her nipples. She mewled as the water pummeled them. Using his fingers, he spread the plump lips beneath her mound apart, sending a pulsating stream of water over her throbbing nub. Sylvie began undulating her hips. Connor didn’t know if he should touch her more intimately yet. Would he hurt her if he put his finger inside her? He put the nozzle in his left hand and slipped his right between her legs. As gently as he could, he inserted a single finger. God she was tight. He didn’t want to hurt her. He started to remove it, when she grabbed his hand and stopped him.
‘No!’
He kissed her cheek and continued. He could feel moisture gathering around his finger. That was a relief. The doctors had told him that arousal might be a problem for Sylvie; at least until she came to terms with what happened. But she was reacting to him just the way she always had.
Sylvie laid her arms on his shoulders and began to moan. He worked his finger in and out of her. Removing it for just a second, he turned her so that her back was against his belly. He slid it back in and felt her tremble. Not with fear, but with desire. While his finger stroked her insides, a stream of water pounded against her clit. She let out a moan as her body began to shudder almost violently. She was soaring, higher and higher, spinning weightless as white hot heat flowed like lava from her core. Into her veins. Into her muscles. Into her bones. She panted, trying to catch her breath as a high pitched squeal of pleasure escaped her throat. Connor steadied her as spasm after spasm of ecstasy pulsed through her. Her body thrummed, vibrating with the most delicious sensations.
Connor’s cock throbbed as it rubbed against her writhing bottom. ‘Sylvie you’re killing me,’ he groaned as he came. So much for self-control!
Sylvie purred in satisfaction as she floated back down to earth. She wasn’t done. She wanted more. Wanted to feel him inside her. She wiggled her ass against his cock and miraculously it sprang to life again.
‘Oh no you don’t, you little wench,’ he admonished, removing his finger. ‘It’s almost bedtime. We’ve no time for any more of that. Playtime is over! We need to get you shaved and shampooed and your hair dried in less than 15 minutes.’
She spun around, glaring at him. ‘But I’m feeling better,’ she argued. ‘I don’t have to go to bed at eight o’clock anymore.’
‘That’s what you think,’ he told her firmly. ‘You will be going to bed at eight for the foreseeable future. Until I’m certain you’re fully recovered.’
‘No! I want a different bedtime!’ she retorted. She was about to stamp her foot when she realized she had lifted the wrong leg. Fearing she’d reinjure her dislocated right ankle, she lowered it. Quickly lifting her left foot, Sylvie brought it down on the tile with a splash, evidencing her extreme displeasure.
Connor laughed. Sylvie frequently stamped her foot when she didn’t get her way or was being defiant. He had no idea why she thought stomping her foot would sway him. It didn’t. But it never ceased to amuse him. She had spunk, that’s for sure. She would glower at him, purse her lips and mutter invectives under her breath. It usually earned her a spanking, as it most likely would today. ‘How about 7:30? Or I could arrange to have it be 7 if that’s more to your liking?’
‘No!’ she retorted.
‘You have three choices Sylvie. What’ll it be?’
She dropped her head, staring at the floor, and mumbled something under her breath.
‘Now surely you can do better than that. What time is bedtime Sylvie?’ he questioned in his strict dom voice.
‘Eight o’clock,’ she responded meekly.
‘Let me make this perfectly clear. The next time you challenge me, the next time you fuss and carry on about your bedtime, you will be hitting the sheets at 7 pm with a well-paddled ass every night for a week. Understand?
Sylvie nodded.
‘Okay then.’ Connor lifted up her arm. ‘Let’s see what this baby can do about those pits.’ He grabbed the razor off the tile shelf and got started. It took him less than five minutes to have her legs and underarms lathered and shaved clean. He’d never done it before, but he found it strangely erotic. There was something very sensual about tending to one’s woman so intimately. A lump began forming in his throat. Connor thought back to the fire, to her broken body, to coming so very close to losing her. His emotions were such a muddle. He wanted her to be his woman, but for how long: a week, a month, a year? Forever? What did he have to offer her? Money? Of course. Position? Certainly. He could shower her with all the things that money could buy. But she didn’t want any of that. All she wanted was his love. And he was so fucked up he didn’t know how to give her that. He was no prize. His temperament was sullen, surly, and churlish. He was cold and unfeeling, strong-willed and inflexible, arrogant and self-centered; an unapologetic bully who’d built a wall around himself. Given his faults, it’s a wonder that she even wanted him. That she loved him. But then love was a strange thing. There was no rhyme or reason to it. One day you just woke up and there it was. He’d come to realize his life would be nothing without her. He needed her. That little slip of a thing was the difference between a life of happiness or one of despair. He’d been denying it for months. But there it was. Now what should he do about it?
Connor massaged her scalp as he washed and rinsed her hair. When he finished, he wrapped her in a warm towel; and, turning on the blow-dryer, began slowly brushing the tangles from her hair. The more he brushed the stiffer his dick got. God help him! He didn’t see how he was going to be able to tuck her into bed without ravishing her. Get a fucking grip! He was behaving like a randy teen. But then he seemed to lose all reason around Sylvie.
He couldn’t help noticing that she wouldn’t look at her reflection in the mirror. She looked sad. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as the bristles of the brush glided through the soft, shiny strands.
She turned to look at him. ‘I don’t like you very much!’ she announced. Her eyes sending daggers his way.
Connor roared with laughter. ‘Oh yes you do. I’m pretty sure you like me a lot!’
‘Not when you spank me and make me go to bed early!’
‘Even then!’ He nuzzled her ear. ‘You clean up real nice! See!’ Cupping her chin with his hand, Connor turned her face to see the reflection in the glass. ‘If I ever decide to quit writing, I think I’ve got a future as a hairdresser. What do you think?’
Her eyes timidly peeked at the mirror. She looked startled at first, her hand reaching up to touch the dark discolorations still visible on her temple, jaw, and around her eyes. She studied the face in the mirror. It wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. Her nose was still a little swollen and there was a small bump on her temple; but compared to the purple and yellow blotches still visible on her right side, hip, thigh, and knee, she looked almost normal. She’d been terrified she wouldn’t recognize the girl in the glass; that something hideous would be captured there instead. She sighed, overwhelmed with relief. Then nodded to him.
He wrapped his arms around her, his lips softly brushing her cheek. ‘You don’t need to worry. They’re fading Sylvie. You can hardly see them anymore. Another couple of weeks and they’ll be completely gone. You’re as beautiful as ever.’
Their eyes met in the glass. She smiled at him gratefully. Connor had the power to banish her fears, make her feel safe, wanted, and special. Sometimes Sylvie felt like he was her strength and salvation. ‘I lied,’ she confessed. ‘I do like you. I like you a lot. I love you!’
‘I suspected as much,’ he grinned. ‘Now march!’ he said, giving her bottom a smack. ‘Time for bed.’
