TWELVE
Wreck eventually got his chance to shave. Tulsi was busy blow-drying her hair for the second time that night. It wasn’t all the way dry when the shower went off, but she was happy to watch him towel the water from his skin while she finished up.
He wasn’t a patient man. She hadn’t given it much consideration until Wreck took her wrist to pull her away from the blow-dryer before she’d hung it back up. He did like things his way.
The toweling robe was still on the floor; he shoved her toward it.
“Lay down.”
“My pajamas are—”
“Not yet,” he said, blocking her way when she tried to go toward the vanity.
Lowering to her knees, Tulsi took her time about sinking onto her side. “Not yet? What are we waiting for, Ruin?”
“Until I’m ready to cover you up,” he said, picking up his bag to
