“You’re not half as sorry as you’re going to be,” Lucivar growled as he knelt to strip off her boots. He led her to the steps at one corner of the heated pool—steps he’d never mentioned the first time he dumped her in there—and kept one hand on her arm to steady her as she descended. Then he stripped off his own clothes and joined her.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s have a look at you.” He called in a washcloth, dipped it in the water, and washed the mud off her face.

Gentle, thorough, grim. She watched his face as he tended each bruise, saw the flash of temper in his eyes when he came to a cut. Then he growled as he carefully checked her hands.

“Didn’t remember to put a shield around your hands before you threw the first punch, did you?” He probed her knuckles and fingers. “Of course, if you’d thought to put a shield around yourself in the first place, she couldn’t have landed a blow at all.”

She raised her chin. “You didn’t shield, either, when you waded into the fight.”

His eyes met hers. “I wasn’t expecting my lover to try to kick my balls down the street.”

My lover. The words warmed her more than anything else could. He’d never said he loved her, and she hadn’t wanted to spoil the easy way they were now living together by telling him she loved him. But she thought it, felt it, more with each day—and hoped that someday he would feel the same.

Then what she’d done finally sank in. She closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders.

“Marian?” Lucivar’s voice was sharp, alarmed.

“I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“I caused a public scene. I’m sorry I embarrassed you by doing that.”

His finger rapped her chin hard enough to startle her into opening her eyes. How could he look grim and amused at the same time?

“Sweetheart,” he said, “it’s going to take more than a public brawl to embarrass me. Especially since I’ve initiated my fair share of public scenes.”

“I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Why did you this time?”

Anger spurted through her as she remembered the look on Roxie’s face, the things the woman said. “She wanted to hurt you. She wanted to take away everything that matters to you. I couldn’t let her do that.”

She couldn’t read the look in his eyes. Soft. Hot. Something more, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Do I mean that much to you?” he asked quietly.

I love you. “Yes, you mean that much to me.”

He smiled, then brushed his lips over hers. “Do I mean enough to you that you’re going to let me fuss over you without snarling at me today?”