A Dance with Danger

Chapter Four-Five

**Estelle’s POV** 

The warm cascade of water from the shower enveloped me, easing the tension in my muscles and washing away the exhaustion of the day. Steam rose, curling around me in a haze, carrying the soft fragrance of vanilla and jasmine from my body wash. My muscles melted under the steady spray, the heat sinking deep into my skin, and I allowed myself to lean into the sensation, savoring the moment of peace.

This was the time I cherished most—when the world beyond faded, leaving only the soothing sound of water and the comforting solitude. Just me and the quiet.

I sighed deeply, sliding my hands over my arms, letting the lather of soap glide over my skin, relishing the softness before rinsing it away. It was like I could feel every bit of stress and strain being carried off by the water, leaving behind only a lingering warmth.

Eventually, I turned off the water, the rush of droplets coming to a halt. A chill kissed my damp skin as the cool air met me, but I ignored the shiver, focusing on the comfort of the plush mat beneath my feet. I reached for a towel and wrapped it around my body, the soft fabric absorbing the moisture.

I grabbed another towel and worked it through my damp hair, gently squeezing the excess water out before wrapping it into a loose turban. A contented sigh slipped from my lips as I walked toward the bedroom, feeling the weight of the day lift from my shoulders, leaving me refreshed and clear-headed.

I approached my vanity and opened the drawer where I kept my nightwear. My fingers skimmed over silk pajama sets before I chose a black satin ensemble—a silk top and matching pants.

I smiled, a quiet satisfaction settling over me. Perfect.

Slipping into the fabric, I adjusted the straps, then turned to face the full-length mirror. I smoothed my hands down my hips, the silk hugging my curves just right. The neckline dipped in a subtle V, accentuating the soft swell of my chest.

I checked my phone for the time. Eleven o’clock.

Tiberius still hadn’t returned.

Frowning, I lowered my phone and moved toward the door. But before I could step any further, the door creaked open.

Tiberius entered, his tall, commanding frame filling the doorway.

My breath caught.

It wasn’t just his slow, measured movements or the way his eyes locked onto mine, intense and unwavering. It was something else—something far more unsettling.

Blood.

My gaze snapped to his face—sharp jaw, intense dark eyes, and the familiar furrow of his brow. He remained unreadable, but there was an air about him. The set of his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed, betrayed an edge of tension.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.

“It’s not mine.”

I blinked, my fingers tightening around my phone. That should have reassured me, but it didn’t. If it wasn’t his, then whose was it?

My heart began to thud louder in my chest, and I scanned him again—this time more slowly, more deliberately. That’s when I saw it. The wound. A jagged gash, deep and ugly, cutting across his ribs, staining his shirt with his blood.

Not his?

I exhaled sharply, a mix of disbelief and concern. “Tiberius, sit down.”

He arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. But I wasn’t in the mood for his silent brooding. I crossed the room in a few swift steps, grabbing his wrist and guiding him toward the vanity chair. Gently but firmly, I pressed down on his shoulder until he sat.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but he didn’t argue.

I turned and walked back into the bathroom, retrieving the first aid kit from the cabinet. When I returned, Tiberius was watching me—no, more than that—admiring me. His dark eyes traced every movement, lingering over my legs, drifting up the silk of my nightwear, and finally meeting mine with a heat that sent a flush creeping up my neck.

His lips curved into a knowing smile. “Maybe.”

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at my lips in response. I knelt in front of him, setting the kit on the vanity and unbuttoning his bloodied shirt. I pushed it aside, exposing his skin, and my fingers brushed over the wound. The heat of his body seeped into mine, and though his muscles tensed under my touch, he didn’t pull away.

I soaked a cotton pad with antiseptic, holding it up. “This is going to sting.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Still, when I pressed the pad to his wound, he let out a slow breath through his nose. There was no wince, no flinch. His composure never wavered.

I worked carefully, cleaning the blood, dabbing at the wound, and smoothing gauze over it before taping it securely in place. The silence between us was thick, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of us acknowledged aloud. I could feel his gaze on me the entire time, sharp, unwavering, as if he were memorizing every moment. As if he needed to.

When I finished, I leaned back slightly, looking up at him. “There. All patched up.”

Tiberius didn’t speak, didn’t move. He just watched me, his dark eyes intense, like he was searching for something in my face.

My pulse quickened, and without thinking, I leaned in, closing the space between us. My lips brushed against his—a light, tentative touch, an unspoken question.

Tiberius didn’t hesitate.

His hand slid into my hair, pulling me closer, his lips capturing mine with a demand that was both rough and slow. I felt the heat of him, the roughness of his hands, the way his kiss tasted like whiskey and something uniquely his.

A low sound escaped me as his fingers tightened in my hair, his other hand trailing over the lace of my lingerie as if testing my boundaries, trying to figure out just how much I would let him take.

I let him take a little more.

But only until I pulled back, needing air, needing space.

Tiberius’s breath was uneven, his pupils dilated, his fingers still resting at the hem of my lingerie.

I smiled, a slow, teasing curve of my lips. “You need to clean up first.”

He exhaled sharply, amusement flickering in his gaze. Without warning, he grabbed me by the waist, lifting me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing at all, and carried me toward the bed.

A laugh bubbled up from my throat, but before he could lay me down, I pressed a hand against his chest. “Shower. Now.”