Chapter Four

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She was hot, so hot, and her side hurt. Catherine whimpered and pushed the blankets away, tossing restlessly upon the bed. A moment later she felt his soothing touch and heard the deep, warm tones that never ceased to delight her, as they did even now, immersed in a delirium.

"I’m here, Catherine, I’m here."

She felt a coolness upon her brow and blinked dazedly only to be immediately lost in the cerulean blue of eyes. Fields of cornflowers, a clear summer sky, glittering sapphire and ocean depths; a mixture of all, yet none came close to describing the exquisite beauty she found there.

"Vincent."

Her voice came out weak and raspy. Her throat hurt. Even as she was diverted by the pain, she felt herself lifted slightly, his arm warm and strong and comforting about her.

"I need you to take these pills now, Catherine. There are two."

She didn’t want to take the pills; her throat hurt and her side hurt and she was hot, so hot, but she couldn’t resist the compelling tones of his voice or the blue depths of his eyes, amazingly clear to her now, though everything else was blurred and hazy. She took them both without protest. A second later her throat was bathed in soothing comfort as he held a glass of cool water to her lips. She was intensely thirsty and drank it all, though he made her go slowly. When she was through she found herself once more lowered to the mattress and then felt a sudden coolness along her torso as the cotton gown was drawn away from her body. A minute later a wet cloth stroked tenderly across her heated flesh and she sighed in relief. Sometime during that drowsy delight, she sank back into a deep sleep.

* * *

There was nothing at first, only deep darkness and a throbbing pain. She moaned lightly and turned her head on the soft pillow, trying to escape it, but it was no use. Little by little her sensations deepened until the darkness lifted to a soft light behind her eyes and the pain became focused along her side. Memory rushed over her and Catherine sighed in resignation, leaving the comforting realm of slumber to once again face this new trial.

When she opened her eyes her resignation turned instantly to pleasure at the sight before her. Vincent. He sat upon the bed at her side, his hand cupping her cheek tenderly. He smiled down at her, but his lips trembled slightly and he looked so tired. She glanced about and found that she was in Vincent’s chamber, in Vincent’s bed. His chair was pulled up close to the bed, and a blanket was draped across it, trailing onto the floor. Taking in his rumpled and careworn appearance, Catherine realized that he had been sleeping in the chair. It must have been a very long night for him, she thought with dismay.

"How are you feeling, Catherine?"

She tried to answer, but her voice croaked and for a moment no words emerged. She cleared her throat and tried again, the words finally coming out in a whisper. "Stiff, thirsty. What time is it?"

"Just past eight o’clock. Father will be in to see you after he’s through with the children’s story-hour."

"Eight o’clock in the evening? I can’t believe I’ve been sleeping for over twenty-four hours!"

"Forty-eight hours, Catherine; it’s Tuesday."

"What?!"

"You’ve had a high fever, but the infection seems to have run its course. Father took a blood sample again this afternoon and says you should feel much better soon."

"Forty-eight hours..."

She stared at him as if in a daze. Suddenly his fatigued appearance took on new meaning. "Oh, Vincent, you’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you?" It wasn’t really a question.

"I’d never leave you while you were sick, you know that, Catherine."

"But you’re so tired. Have you slept at all since Saturday?"

"A little. You mustn’t worry about me."

"But I do, Vincent. You need to get some sleep."

"In a little while, perhaps. You must be hungry, and now that you’re awake, I’d like to change the bedding for you."

His words instantly drew her focus to those two very things. Her stomach growled demandingly and the sheets about her were uncomfortably sticky and unpleasant.

"That does sound good, so does food as a matter of fact. But Vincent, I need to take a bath and shampoo my hair. I couldn’t possibly get into a clean bed like this -- I stink!"

He smiled at her words, completely in sympathy with that sentiment -- it had been too long since he’d bathed himself. Most of all he smiled in relief at the easing he felt of her spirit; it was so in contrast to the restless, feverish sickness that had enclosed her during the last two days.

"Food first, Catherine."

He turned to the table where a covered tray waited. A moment later the warm, mouth-watering aroma of a tasty stew assailed her nostrils. Vincent set the bowl upon the bedside table then gently helped her to a sitting position of sorts, though Catherine knew she couldn’t have maintained it without the numerous pillows supporting her at her back and both sides. Her muscles still quivered weakly along her torso, but the pain there had lessened considerably and she suspected that she might regain her full strength within perhaps a week or two.

Vincent insisted upon feeding her himself, though she thought she might be able to manage it. She ate almost the full contents of the bowl and a soft piece of bread besides. When she was through she sat back in lazy satisfaction, her stomach pleasurably full. Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Father, and behind him came Peter. He hurried forward to her side, and Vincent moved back to make room for them both.

"How are you, Cathy? It seems I’ve missed all the excitement. Father tells me you’re well on the road to recovery now."

"I’ll be fine, Peter, but I’m glad you’re here anyway. Maybe you and Father can help me convince Vincent to get some sleep."

"I wish we could, my dear." Jacob stepped forward to stand behind Vincent, whose face had taken on a stubborn look of determination. "He hasn’t left your side since you returned, though there were many volunteers to sit with you."

At that point another voice joined the fray, and Mary peeked around Father’s shoulder. "Now that you’re awake maybe you’ll be able to talk some sense into him, dear. How are you feeling, Catherine?"

"Better. William’s stew was delicious, but now that I’m full the only thing I want is a bath and a shampoo; I feel filthy."

"I’ll get you some hot water, then afterwards I’ll change the bedding and you’ll be much more comfortable."

"No, please, I don’t want a sponge bath, I want a real bath. I want to soak in a warm pool, please."

Catherine looked about the group but saw she had no supporters in this effort, though Mary’s face wore a thoughtful look. Father spoke up first, shaking his head firmly in refusal.

"That’s out of the question, Catherine. You should avoid immersion of the incision for a few days yet, and you’re too weak to attempt it, even if you were to use the shallow steps. The pool areas are slippery and deep -- it’s far too risky."

Peter looked sympathetic, but reluctantly agreed.

"I’m afraid Father’s right, Cathy. It wouldn’t be wise."

She swallowed back the tears that formed and nodded, knowing she would have no choice but to give in gracefully. Support came unexpectedly.

"Perhaps it can be done, Father."

All eyes turned in Mary’s direction.

"Vincent could take her. I’m sure he’d be happy for an opportunity to bathe himself."

As if on cue, their gazes now swung in his direction. Catherine could see that he was ready to reject that proposal by his startled, wide-eyed expression, and she stared up at him, a naked entreaty in her own eyes. She felt the sudden transition through their bond first, then saw that decision clearly in his face, his capitulation plain.

"All right."

The low murmur was barely heard, but he nodded resolutely, as if reinforcing some internal argument, and squeezed her hand gently.

"I’ll take you."

* * *

At last, she was finally going to get her bath. And not just any bath, oh no; this one would include Vincent. They hadn’t been able to leave right away as Peter and Father both wanted to examine her together. Catherine was so excited over the prospect of that special bath that she had been only slightly bothered by the exam, keeping her eyes on Vincent as he sat by her side holding her hand. They’d all been pleased with her progress, assuring her that she would be up and about in a few days time. It wasn’t until now, while she and Vincent made their way through the tunnels to the small bathing pool which Vincent shared with Father, that she remembered she hadn’t asked Peter how soon before she could have the scar removed.

Oh well, she’d worry about that later, once she had returned above. For now she didn’t want to think of anything else but the joy of being held in Vincent’s arms. She was still slightly stunned that he had so readily agreed to this. It was true that during these last four days the level of intimacy between them had increased dramatically. How could it not? She had been very sick, traumatically injured, and Vincent had cared for her almost exclusively. She blushed now to think of how he’d seen her during that time. No, she had nothing left to hide from him, nothing at all. Not that she’d ever wanted to hide anything from him in the first place, but that was an altogether different story.

Still, her mind worked furiously to imagine how he would care for her in this bath without exposing himself, just a little. As a lawyer, she was all for Quid Quo Pro, or tit for tat, as the case may be. She couldn’t help the grin that spread over her features then, burying her face against his neck in an attempt to hide it from him, but of course that didn’t work.

"What is it, Catherine? You’re laughing."

"It’s nothing, Vincent. I was just thinking how good it feels to get out of bed, even for a short while."

They entered the pool chamber and Catherine was spared the necessity of making any further explanation. Vincent gently set her down upon a low, flat boulder, and she leaned against the wall gingerly, careful not to make too abrupt a movement. The wound was still sore, but the stitches were beginning to itch, a good sign, they all said, that everything was healing nicely. Still, her muscles were very weak through her torso, and she hadn’t yet done any standing or walking at all, which wasn’t surprising since she’d been mostly unconscious throughout the whole time.

Vincent moved about the chamber, readying things, and Catherine watched him surreptitiously. He set the stack of clean nightclothes upon the hand carved shelf that ran along the wall between the two entrances. Then he took out a stack of towels, some soap and shampoo from one of the wicker baskets near the far entrance and set them along the chamber floor, near the pool’s edge. He paused for a moment, then resolutely began to undress as he stood with his back to her.

Catherine gasped at that image, shocked, despite the fact that it seemed almost inevitable that he must. Still, somehow she had been sure that he would come up with some other alternative, even if it meant he had to bathe fully clothed.

Vincent pulled off his boots and socks, setting them back against the wall, then tugged his heavy, cable knit sweater over his head. He hesitated for a moment more, then finally stripped off the cream colored thermal shirt, finally baring his torso to her.

Catherine tried to control her response to him, but it was impossible. He was so beautiful. With just the thermal shirt on, she’d thought to herself that he looked thinner than she had imagined he would -- she’d almost never seen him without multiple, thick layers on, and usually that included a warm, padded vest. But when he took the last shirt off, his musculature became plain. The thought came wryly to her that there was no way to describe him as anything else but magnificent. His muscles were tautly defined, even through the thick hair spread liberally over him. The pattern was similar to that of any other man, just more so, at least from what she could see at this angle. As for the texture, she suspected it varied quite a bit depending on its location, and had an overwhelming urge to touch him everywhere and discover those differences first hand.

Catherine suddenly realized that she had been staring at him for quite some time, and that therefore he had been standing still before her for that same amount of time. She blushed, understanding that Vincent had done that purposely, to give her whatever time it took for her to see his differences clearly. Sorrow crept over her as she realized that he still feared her rejection. He stood partially turned away from her, his stance stiff and graceless, as if waiting for some blow only she could deliver. And just as suddenly she also knew that this was the most he could do this day. This baring of his torso to her was a monumental leap forward; there would be nothing else, not yet. But it was enough for now.

Catherine had been holding her breath, but she let it out now, letting the love and pleasure she felt at the sight of him flow through their bond unimpeded. Then, to give him a small moment to gather his composure once more, she turned her attention to her own clothes. She wore a tunnel robe and one of the front-tie hospital gowns that had made caring for her injury so easy these last few days. The robe had one loose belt, and the gown had four ties. She undid them all except for the third tie of the nightshirt, which had somehow gotten knotted. She fumbled with it, but it was tight, and the chamber somewhat dim -- she couldn’t seem to undo it. She hadn’t realized that he’d moved until his hands brush her own aside. Looking up in surprise, she found him on one knee before her.

"Let me help you, Catherine."

How often had he said that to her during the last four days? She’d lost count.

Vincent’s fingers nimbly untangled the knot, but all she felt was the soft touch of them, and the light scrape of his nails as they brushed over her belly through the thin cotton. Finally it was undone and he pushed both garments off her shoulders and rose to stand before her. For an instant she couldn’t contain the shiver that moved through her at the picture they presented. The chamber was lit lowly, the air heavy with water from the pool just beyond them. Vincent stood silently before her and Catherine couldn’t take her eyes off the massive muscles of his chest, mesmerized by its rise and fall for several long minutes. And she sat before him, completely naked.

In an instant, a fantasy swept over her from out of the blue; an image not unlike their pose now, yet with some crucial differences. The dark trousers were gone, and he stood proudly before her, glorious and golden, his body a sensuous beacon that called out to her with an insistent, commanding refrain. In this fantasy she moved gracefully, rising to her feet to touch his arms, shoulders and chest with a lover’s caress before she sank to her knees before him, her mouth seeking him with an urgent hunger...

The bubble burst suddenly as a twinge of pain flashed through her. Catherine looked down at the sutured gash along her side and gasped in dismay, the sight shocking her anew. Her emotions plummeted and sorrow and grief replaced the euphoria that had filled her just seconds before. It was awful, she didn’t want him to see her like this, unreasonable though that thought was in light of the events of the last few days. But she couldn’t help herself, crossing her arms over her breasts and shivering uncontrollably.

Vincent’s touch upon her broke through the spell surrounding her. He pressed a soft folded towel into her hands, then slid his own under her legs and around her back to lift her tenderly, cradling her against the hard strength of his chest. She turned her face inward, burying it against the downy softness at the center of that broad expanse, tears seeping through her tightly closed lids. A moment later they entered the pool and she felt the warmth of it touch first her feet, then her legs, until they were immersed within it. She opened her eyes and looked outward. They sat on the second of the several benches of this pool. The water lapped shallowly about her bottom, nestled as it was in his lap, but did not quite touch the beginning of the scar, low down on her belly.

"This should help keep the incision protected, Catherine. We need to try and keep it relatively dry."

As he spoke, Vincent unfolded the downy white towel, refolded it deftly, then positioned it along her side and down her belly. The top edge was draped casually over her breasts and the bottom over the darker curls below, and she knew he did it both for the sake of her own modesty and as a salve for his embarrassment. Or was it to reduce temptation? The elusive thought flitted through and drifted away, as he placed her own hand over the towel at the center of her stomach to hold it in place.

The air in the chamber was chilly, but less so than the tunnel passages without, due to the heat of the pool itself and the water-laden air that helped to distribute that heat. The encompassing warmth on her legs felt wonderful, but even better than that was Vincent’s muscled warmth surrounding her. She brushed away her tears, determined to put those thoughts behind her and enjoy this time with him.

That turned out to be amazingly easy to do once attempted. The water was both buoyant and soothing, easing her troubled spirits with little effort and the misty air provided a dreamy quality that allowed her to ignore the unsightly incision running the length of her torso just beneath the soft cotton. Her only distraction, in fact, was the muscled strength of Vincent beneath her.

As if sensing the new direction of her thoughts, Vincent slid her off his lap, ignoring the momentary lapse in her control as a mewling whimper of protest escaped her, and set her back on the ledge, right next to the step above it so that she could lean against it and rest her forearm on that side for additional support. He slipped off the bench into the water and walked across the pool to collect the soap and shampoo, then made his way back towards her, the torchlight reflecting off the coppery highlights of his hair. He looked like a golden stature come to life, and Catherine found herself watching his graceful approach with awe and admiration, the vision of him soothing but not eliminating the frustration of his abrupt absence.

Vincent felt those emotions in Catherine, felt them clearly, and was stunned by their content. Several times since they’d entered this chamber her emotions had sunk into a dark place, the pain and sight of her injury affecting her deeply. But each time she had been distracted, her thoughts turned instead towards him. He couldn’t believe it, nor could he fully deny it; she wasn’t repulsed by him, she accepted him, perhaps even found him pleasing. How could this be?!

He was thoroughly nonplussed by this discovery, one part of his mind occupied with it completely while the rest tended to the matter at hand. He set the shampoo on the ledge and then made quick use of the soap along his bared chest and stomach, embarrassed by the intimacy of that action in front of her, but immeasurably relieved to feel himself at least partially clean again. He sank beneath the water to rinse off, using those few, dark seconds to pull his composure about him once more. He used that opportunity to surreptitiously slip his hand beneath the waste of his jeans to brush the bar of soap over his belly and the itchy flesh below, stroking the residue away quickly with an internal sigh of relief. Much better.

When he rose from the water he felt the equivalent of a gasp from Catherine through the bond. He turned to her hurriedly, afraid she had hurt herself, only to find her staring intently at him, her eyes wide with some emotion he was afraid to put a name to. His body responded to that look instantly, though, without thought, and Vincent turned away quickly, horrified by that betrayal. He took the shampoo from the ledge and, with his back to her once more, began to wash his hair, trying desperately not to dwell upon her adoring presence just three feet behind him.

What had he been thinking of to do this?! It was too much. He had thought that he could put aside the strong feelings of physical attraction that he had always felt for her, especially now, under these circumstances. For the most part that had been easy to do during the last few days. Early on, all of his energies had been directed toward controlling his own fears and soothing hers. Still, in the quieter moments, once Catherine’s safety had been assured, he hadn’t been able to suppress those thoughts and feelings altogether. Even in the way-station, as he’d prepared her for the journey back, some small part of his mind had not been able to ignore the fragile beauty of her, given over completely into his loving care.

He had covered those thoughts with a brute force, appalled by the inappropriateness of them in such a place, during such a time, but he hadn’t been able to banish them altogether; they were too strong. They had intruded again, to an even stronger degree, while Catherine slept in his bed, a fever burning through her. Father had assured him that it wasn’t too serious, that he should simply keep her as cool and comfortable as possible until the antibiotics kicked in and the fever ran its course. On and off for hours he bathed her body with a soothing alcohol and water mixture. Catherine had definitely responded to that treatment, her restless movements and moans easing as he cared for her. He remembered how, at one point, he had thought she was comfortable enough to stop for a while. He began to pull the covers over her, but then paused, his eyes tracing along her slim body with an aching desire that for once he couldn’t hide, not even from himself.

But this, this was completely different. Everything indicated that Catherine was out of danger now, though it would be a week or more before she was sufficiently recovered enough to resume the duties of her life above. In a strange way, Vincent understood, even accepted, the need that had filled him during the past few days. The danger she had been in had completely overwhelmed the barriers he’d spent so much time building, and it had been impossible to deny the full measure of his love for her, not then, when he was so close to losing her.

That time was past now, he reminded himself sternly, and he needed to impose a safe distance once again, for both their sakes. Vincent knew this with an absolute certainty and conviction, yet somehow his will was blocked. Those feelings, which he had always been able to sublimate and control in the past, now pushed past the new barriers he was attempting to build, dashing the fragile structure over and over again, as if to say ‘no more, never again’.

So, given these new, distressing conditions, what did he do? He took her to his and Father’s private bathing pool and, in a move completely at odds with his fears, with his need to put some distance between them, had bared his torso to her and joined her in the warm, dim silence of the pool.

His intentions had been innocent enough at first, or so he thought. He wanted to relieve the anxiety he’d felt building in her since she’d woken this morning, her thoughts turned insistently inward to a dark place not even he could yet fathom. He truly had intended to leave his thermal shirt on, uncomfortable as that might be, and simply help her with her bath; he’d been caring for her intimately for the last four days after all, why should this be any different?

But as he set out the towels and soaps, he’d felt her emotions through the bond; curiosity and expectation. He thought of how Catherine had gracefully given over control of herself to him, uncomfortable though that must have been at times, and suddenly saw this bath as a way to perhaps regain the balance between them, to give her back what she had been forced to give up by circumstances beyond both their control. She had trusted him completely, how could he do less? And so, in an instant, he had made the decision that placed him in this new, precarious position.

To anyone else, this would have been a little thing, this baring of his chest. In the tunnels, where communal living was a necessity, children bathed together, sometimes well into their teens, as comfortably as they swam together for fun -- swimsuits were a foreign concept Below. Adults often shared bathing space too, the logistics required for a private bath almost impossible to ensure, on average. But it was no small thing for him, on the contrary.

As a child, Vincent had joined in the communal bathing and swimming like any other member of their community, but in his thirteenth year, when it became apparent that the changes in his body were occurring faster and with some dramatically different results than with his peers, he had tried, unsuccessfully, to withdraw from that public scrutiny. Devin and Father and his tunnel family had not allowed it, assuring him with their calm acceptance that he was a beloved member of their community, despite his differences. There had been some notable exceptions, however, which signified a drastic increase in the already burgeoning introspective nature of his character, and led to a gradual shift in his public behavior as his adolescence progressed. The continual warnings to him specifically about his presence above let him know that his differences were not as minor as most of his friends pretended them to be. And within that body of friends and family there were others, less cautious and sometimes more purposely malicious in their intent, like Mitch. But it was Lisa who had set off the course of events that led to where he was now; Lisa, with her airy, self-centered absorption that would not allow her to see the traumatic effect her flirtatious behavior would have on a boy whose self-perceptions teetered on an abyss.

The path those thoughts led down was too painful to dwell on, and Vincent drew abruptly back from that inward reflection, the chamber settling around him once more. He quickly finished with his hair, then sank beneath the water, the still darkness a soothing comfort to him. When the soap was rinsed clean and his composure regained, he surfaced and sighed with pleasure. He hated being dirty and felt much better now. He drew a fresh towel from the wicker basket and turned towards Catherine again, shampoo in hand, determined to help her, despite the disquiet growing within him at this ill-conceived plan.

"Catherine, lean back here."

He placed the folded towel over the edge of the top step, just to her left, and slipped an arm about her shoulder to ease her around and back. She tried to swing her legs up out of the water, to rest them on the third step just beneath her, but winced as her stomach muscles protested abruptly. He felt her response through the bond, and saw the grimace of pain flicker across her features, interpreting the cause of her distress in an instant. Slipping a hand behind her knees he lifted them carefully and set them upon the same step she sat upon. In this position her knees where raised, minimizing the stress along the sutured length of the incision. She sighed as the pain retreated, whispering a throaty thanks.

Vincent nodded, then guided her hands to spots along her belly and ribcage, over top of the cottony fabric. An image and sensation flashed through her of the panic-stricken moments following the accident. He had positioned her hands in just this way then, too, only that time he had pressed them to bare and torn flesh, commanding her to hold it tight, his own voice trembling with terror and shocked disbelief. She shut her eyes against that dark memory, overwhelmed by the intensity of it and suddenly felt herself engulfed in his embrace. She opened her eyes only to find herself hidden beneath the lush fall of his damp mane, the curve of his throat tantalizingly near, and the heat of his body warming her as his strong arms held her tight.

"It’s all right, Catherine, it’s all right…" he murmured soothingly.

His lips were so close to her ear she felt the vibration of those low-spoken words, and shuddered helplessly in response. Her hands clasped in the folds of the towel – she couldn’t trust herself to release it, afraid that she would push him too far should she give her hands free reign now. He felt her response, of course. She knew it immediately in the stiffening of his embrace, and in the slow and inevitable withdrawal that resulted. She took a deep breath and let it go with a sigh, watching his retreat with as much composure as she could manage.

Vincent’s eyes met hers for a fleeting instant, but moved away quickly, and she knew then that she hadn’t been completely successful at hiding the sudden surge of desire filling her. He moved about her restlessly, settling her, then stepped behind her shoulder.

A moment later she felt one hand cross over her chest to cup her far shoulder as the other slid behind her neck to ease her hair from beneath her. He ran his fingers through it several times, spreading it out in the shallow water on the first step, behind her, then began to cup and pour the warm water handful by handful over her scalp. Every now and then he combed through the silky strands with his fingers, making sure the water had worked its way through.

As she lay with her head leaned back and eyes closed, she grew disoriented and jerked abruptly in response. His hand tightened upon her shoulder and he leaned in until she felt the solid strength of his support, standing just beside her. She sighed and felt her muscles relax, trusting him completely. Her head fell back languidly, cupped gently in his palm, and she gave herself over to his control and to his keeping. In that instant it came to her with an abrupt and crystal clarity just how much she craved to do that very thing, not only here in this pool, but in every aspect of their lives. She sighed with pleasure at the thought, the sound a soft whisper in the darkened chamber. A honeyed mass trickled over her scalp and the scent of roses drifted over her. When Vincent’s fingers began to massage the thick lotion through her hair, she sighed again, a feeling of contentment and pleasure filling her such as she’d never before experienced.

Catherine’s silky strands tickled his fingers and palms, and he found he didn’t want to stop, despite the internal struggle undergone just minutes ago. She felt so good against him, the warm water sliding between their naked skin to tease and tantalize at the few points where they touched. His fingers slid down to gently massage her neck and shoulders, working out the kinks that he had felt so often during the pain-filled days just past. Her skin was so soft and so satiny smooth – so unlike his own. But even that thought couldn’t distract him from the delight before him, all the warnings he had made to himself drifting away with the frothy soap upon the pool’s surface.

As before, his body reacted inevitably, especially now, as she lay so trustingly in his arms. Despite his embarrassment over the inevitable physical response that followed, this time he didn’t try to negate and submerge that response, instead letting the quickening arousal flow through his veins like viscous honey, thick and hot. His throbbing erection was taut and tight in his jeans, but the water had loosened the fabric a little, and he shifted a bit on his feet, sighing when he found a less painful position. He tried his best to ignore the heated message pulsing there, and concentrated on the silky mass of her hair instead.

Catherine was glad that he stood at her shoulder, and almost behind her. Though her eyes appeared closed from above, from another angle he might have glimpsed the barest hint of sultry green peeking out as she took in the sight of his torso through the thick curtain of dusky lashes. Ginger hair lushly covered the center of his chest, and she clutched the cotton towel tighter, an almost irresistible urge sweeping through her to bury her hands in that silken mass and explore the broad expanse beneath. His skin was almost a coppery bronze shade, despite the lifelong absence of exposure to the sun, and even through the thick hair she could clearly make out the strong musculature that defined him. His nipples and the surrounding paps were darker, almost mahogany in color, and they stood taut and firm. Her mouth watered to taste him and she squeezed her eyes closed tight and clamped down on that sudden desire, aware that though she might hide her avid visual scrutiny from him, she had less control over their erstwhile bond.

As soon as she felt that tumultuous emotion was under control, she let her eyes drift open just the barest bit, so that her hungry eyes could feast on his beauty once more. God only knew when she might have this chance again…

Catherine was both right and wrong. Vincent was very much aware of her sensations over their bond, and the slight movement of her eyelids told him more of what she thought lay safely hidden. He was as aware of her visual scrutiny as he was of her emotions, but continued to rub her shoulders, though his hands now shook. He was hardly aware of that himself, his concentration focused strongly on controlling his breathing and heart rate. Finally he gained some outward control, though his body still throbbed, full and tight with desire for her. His trembling hands rose to rinse the lather from her hair, and once again he was lost in the mesmerizing silky wet strands, fascinated by their play over his sensitive fingers and palm.

Finally the soap was gone, and with reluctance he eased her back against the towel and released her. He reached beyond her to the ledge, where he retrieved the soap he had left there, then lathered it and began to wash her tenderly. He washed what he could reach of her arms and shoulders, then helped her lean forward to stroke gently along he planes of her back. He rinsed the soap away before easing her back once more.

Catherine didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Keeping her growing feelings of arousal from Vincent was fast becoming impossible; her whole body seemed to have become one big erogenous zone. Now she was glad for the cover the towel provided, knowing her nipples were hard and tight behind it. She didn’t know how she would have been able to lie there, so open to his gaze, under these trying conditions without it. Everywhere he touched her, a tingling grew which led inevitably back to her very core, and her body began to quiver in response. The ultimate affect of this was inevitable, however, the cut along her side tensing up in protest at the stress of that vibration, the pain there growing. He felt that pain immediately, stopping and cupping her chin to silently urge her eyes open.

"Catherine? What is it?"

"It’s nothing, Vincent, I’m still just a little sore, I guess."

He brushed her trembling hands away from the towel and she gasped in dismay, as he pushed it aside to inspect the wound. Her suddenly-freed hands rose to instinctively cover her breasts and she blushed a deep shade of red when he glanced back at her face, a surprised and embarrassed expression, no doubt not unlike her own, now appearing there as well. He glanced away quickly, though, and after a cursory inspection of the incision rearranged the towel over her once more.

A part of her – the part not mortified by her instinctive response – noted his actions with approval, proud that despite the embarrassment flooding them both he would resolutely ensure there were no new problems present before giving them the break from this intimacy that they both craved yet feared. Vincent glanced down her body assessingly, and she could easily read the question in his mind. Should he offer to do more, or were they both at their limit? Her own emotions now tentatively under control, she offered him the same gentle assurance that he had silently given her just a minute ago.

"I think I can survive now, at least for another day or two."

He glanced up and met her eyes hesitantly, but their gazes held, each caught by the tender concern they saw there. Finally he nodded, a sheepish thanks evident in his eyes. He slipped his arms around her back and legs, easing her to an upright sitting position once more, then stepped up on a lower bench several feet to her right and levered himself out of the pool without effort. She watched admiringly as water sluiced down his chest, shoulders and back to be caught in the now-sagging waistband of his jeans. He was magnificent. He toweled himself off quickly – much quicker than she would have had him do it had she had a say in the matter – then leaned down to sweep her out of the pool and onto her feet. She swayed dizzily before him for a minute, but he held her safe and secure, wrapping her in a large bathing sheet with the quick economy of motion she had admired so often of him before.

It only inspired frustration in her now.

Once certain she was all right, he pulled his cloak about him, grabbed the stack of nightclothes sitting upon the rocks, lifted her tenderly in his arms and headed out.

It took only a minute, and they were once again within the cozy, familiar warmth of his chamber. Vincent set her down upon the freshly made bed, quickly dried her off and wrapped her hair in a towel.

Before Catherine knew it, she was dressed in a clean nightshirt with the covers pulled up securely about her as she nestled in the fluffy expanse of his newly-made bed. She watched irresistibly as Vincent pulled off his cloak and began to dry his upper body and hair once more. A puddle was forming rapidly beneath him though, courtesy of the wet jeans he still wore. He hesitated a moment, then grabbed his own nightclothes.

"I’ll be back in a minute, Catherine," he said, and he was true to his word. In no time he was indeed back, and Catherine suspected he had returned to the bathing chamber in order to change.

When Vincent reentered the chamber, he came directly to the bed and sat beside her. "Your pills."

He held her about her shoulders as she took the pills and a sip of water, then eased her back down. She sighed with relief and burrowed deeply beneath the covers.

"How do you feel now, Catherine?" he asked somewhat shyly.

Their time in the bathing pool had been intensely intimate compared to anything they had shared before. He was still amazed he had allowed such closeness between them, much less initiated it.

"Almost human again. It feels wonderful to be clean."

"Good. You should sleep well tonight. Is there anything else you need?"

She began to shake her head ‘no,’ then instead nodded.

"Will you stay with me tonight, Vincent? Please? I need to feel you near."

"I will be near, Catherine. I’ll be right here." He gestured towards the chair behind him, but she interrupted.

"I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re in that hard chair again. Please, Vincent."

He paused for a moment, then nodded. He made a turn about the room, putting out all but a few of the candles then stopped again beside the bed. After another short hesitation, he shrugged out of his robe, thankful that he had chosen a warm thermal shirt and fleecy sweatpants to sleep in this evening. He slid under the covers and eased alongside her, careful not to jar her unnecessarily. He paused uncertainly, but Catherine took his hand and pulled it over her, placing it along her ribs, on her uninjured side. She sighed with pleasure, her hand covering his, turned her face towards him to whisper goodnight, then fell fast asleep.

Vincent lasted a few minutes longer. He stared at her peaceful face with wonder, amazed at the courage and strength she had shown throughout this ordeal. He couldn’t resist then, leaning over to press a kiss softly against her lips as she slept. He eased back to lay beside her once again, tenderly perusing her face for a few minutes more until he too joined her in a dark, soothing slumber.