Stuck with you

Chapter Four

Kate's POV

I stood in the middle of his bathroom, if I could even call it that. It looked more like a hidden room built into a palace than something meant for washing up. Marble floors, a tub big enough to fit three people, and shelves lined with bottles I didn't recognize.

Five minutes, he'd said. Five minutes to prepare a bath for a man I'd known less than a day.

This is fine, I told myself. How hard can it be?

I turned the tap and watched the water rush in, steam curling up almost immediately. I didn't think much of it — hot water felt like luxury after weeks of cold roadside mornings, so I let it run hotter, and hotter still, until the mirror above the sink fogged over completely.

Next, the shelves. Rows of glass bottles, each one nicer than anything I'd owned in years. I picked one up — dark amber liquid, a rich, warm scent that hit me the second I opened it. Woodsy.

Expensive. I had no idea it was his cologne. I poured a generous amount into the running water, watching it swirl and disappear beneath the surface, pleased with myself.

There. Smells nice. That should do it.

Then I spotted a small bowl and a brush sitting beside a folded razor — his shaving kit, though I didn't know that either. The soap inside looked soft, almost like it was meant to foam. So I scooped a portion out and dropped it straight into the tub, stirring it in with my hand until small bubbles began to rise.

A bubble bath, I thought, satisfied. Perfect.

I glanced around for towels next, found a stack folded neatly on a rack by the door, and set two beside the tub without a second thought — no idea they were meant to be warmed first, or that there was even a setting for that.

By the time I stepped back to admire my work, the bathroom smelled like a mixture of cologne and shaving soap, thick steam clouding the mirrors, bubbles piling higher than I expected.

I allowed myself a small, proud smile.

See? I can do this.

Then a thought came to me.

I looked at the bath, then the door.

How about I try it myself, I thought.

I slipped my buttons undone, eyes darting toward the towel rack, already reaching for the nearest one just in case.

That was, of course, right before the door opened behind me.

I froze.

"Kitty."

His voice was low, careful — not the cold,

commanding tone I'd grown used to. I grabbed the towel and pulled it against myself, my back still to him, heart slamming so hard I could hear it in my ears.

"I— I was just—" I couldn't even finish the sentence. There was no explanation that made this look like anything other than exactly what it was.

Silence stretched between us. I didn't dare turn around.

"Five minutes," he finally said, "and you've already redecorated my bathroom into something else entirely."

I heard him step further inside, not closer to me, but toward the tub. A pause. Then, unmistakably, a low huff of air that might have been the start of a laugh, quickly swallowed back down.

"Cologne," he said flatly. "In my bathwater."

"I thought it was bath oil," I muttered, mortified, still facing the wall.

"And my shaving soap."

"It looked like it was supposed to foam."

Another pause, longer this time. I risked a glance over my shoulder. He wasn't looking at the bath anymore — he was looking at me, that unreadable expression back on his face, though something in it had softened at the edges.

"You know what , you have three minutes now. Just three minutes. And my bath is exactly how it should be."

"What?" I said, louder this time.

I heard him already turning to leave. I spun around immediately, wrapping the towel tighter around myself.

"I can't, Marcus—" I called after him, not even realizing I'd used his name until it had already left my mouth.

He stopped. Turned. His gaze locked on mine for a long moment.

"Three minutes," he said again, already walking away.

I quickly buttoned my shirt and followed after him, knowing full well there was no way I'd get that bath done — let alone done right — in three minutes.

The main door to the room opened.

A woman I didn't recognize stood there, looking between me and Colonel Marcus.

He disappeared into his study without a glance back.

The woman turned to me, smiling.

"I'm Leah. The housekeeper."

I tried to smile back. "I'm Kate."

"His personal maid, I take it?"

Hearing it said out loud — personal maid — hit harder than I expected. I knew I'd have to get used to it.

"Yes."

"Come, let me teach you how Mr. Marcus Steele likes his bath," she said, smiling, easy and unbothered in a way that put me at ease.

"Thank you, Miss Leah."

"It's Mrs., dear," she corrected gently.

I just smiled.

_________

Marcus pov

I stepped into my study, still shaking my head. I couldn't believe my little kitten had been so clumsy, trying to run my bath herself, and calling me by my name on top of it.

I had to admit, I hadn't expected her to be quite that naive about something as simple as preparing a bathtub.

I glanced toward the door, trusting Leah would handle the rest.

There was something about Kitty I found genuinely interesting. But the moment at the bathtub earlier had stirred something in me I wasn't ready to name.

Not willing to dwell on it, I switched on my system, eyes settling on the tracker I'd successfully planted on my targets.