As promised, Elias returned at night. Like a regular member of the house, he matched straight to Sienna's bedroom. By the time she made it there, after doing pilates, he was standing in the bathroom.
Her eyes found the tub. It was enormous, carved from black stone, with water steaming faintly. She looked back at Elias again, his long legs were exposed, his chest bare, save for the swimming shorts, he did not have anything else on. His expression was the usual: cold, aristocratic disdain as if the tub itself barely met his fancy standards.
Wrapped in a towel so thick that it looked like Sienna had stolen it from a monastery, she raised a frying pan like a sword and shield at the same time. "You better not think about any mischief," she warned.
Elias stepped into the tub and settled in the warm water. "Mischief? You flatter yourself."
