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Trent stood in the shower and thought. Well, tried to think. He had a wide range of topics clamoring for attention, many of which he actually did need to think about. It had been a busier twenty-four hours than normal.
Kisten Felps might have been the one to set the bomb on that riverboat, but he was certain the living vampire had warned Lee. It was a miscalculation to rely on Lee’s sense of humanity to save the other people on the boat—one Trent would not have made, but then, he knew Lee Saladan from when they were children.
There was a possibility Lee would have evacuated everyone if he and Rachel had not been there, but even with them locked in that office and Rachel cut off from her magic, he wasn’t willing to risk them hearing the entire crowd leave. Rightfully so, given how the evening turned out.
Trent didn’t know yet if Lee had targeted Rachel because of her association with Felps or for some other reason, but he would find out.
And just like that, he found himself standing naked in his shower thinking about Rachel Morgan. Again. It would be demoralizing if he was the sort of man to let such things get to him.
Rachel Morgan—red-haired witch and would-be bane of his existence.
He supposed he should be grateful to his father for the memory blockers in his camp’s water supply for giving him as much time as they did to establish himself before she took her first run at him. Gave them some time to interact where she just thought of him as a criminal and bully in the business world, before she realized he was also the kid she saw as the camp bully.
Not that it made sense that she should be the one holding onto childhood grudges. He held his arm out and rotated his hand, seeing the old scar shift under the water as the muscles flexed. He really had never forgiven her for making him cry in front of his father.
Or maybe he had and he just didn’t want to admit it. He wondered if she would admit to forgiving him for putting her in the rat fights. He was reasonably certain she had.
Trent shook his head, then reached for the soap. He had more important things to think about than the first and most spectacular time he’d pissed the witch off.
The witch who actually was becoming the bane of his existence, albeit in a different way than she realized. Certainly than she intended.
Trent would never admit to anyone that part of his reluctance in her replacing Quen as his bodyguard the night before was due to not wanting to see her dressed up and on his arm. It was satisfying to know that she was, in fact, completely capable of the elegance needed to fit into his normal circles once she was out of her runner clothes and into a nice dress, but the knowledge did his equilibrium no good. Even if they hadn’t ended up in the river that dress would never have been returned to Ellasbeth’s closet.
It was better when he didn’t have that picture in his head. It would be even better if he didn’t know what it was like to hold her in his arms. Despite them both being fully clothed and covered in freezing water, he now knew the weight and shape of her.
Probably the worst part though was the knowledge that she had relaxed after finding out where she was. Drawn closer, even. He would never have predicted that. He knew she wasn’t lying when she told him not two hours later that she saw the best in everyone but him. And yet, she’d curled in and let him hold her while Jonathan drove them home.
And he’d spent that time watching and holding her, instead of thinking about all the many things he needed to do. Part of it was relief. She’d been so cold when Jonathan had pulled them off the ice. As a witch she was susceptible to the cold in a way he never would be. He sang the first few lines of a healing spell before allowing Jonathan to begin trying to wake her, knowing she likely wouldn’t allow him to if she was aware.
Trent shook his head, sending water flying. Enough. Enough thinking about Rach—Morgan. He couldn’t keep letting his thoughts about her slip around. God knows it was a good thing she thought she’d caught him trying to manipulate her with body language earlier.
He reached out and shut off the water.
Enough. He had businesses to run and a race to save and no time to be thinking of a witch who refused to work for him without being manipulated into it. Plenty of time for that the next time he needed security with an attitude.