At his continued silence, I ceased fussing with the violas I’d placed in a milk jug upon the table. I picked up the wine he’d left for me, asking, “And you?”

“Both,” he grunted.

“Hungry again?” I asked, smirking.

“Eternally, apparently,” he murmured, so low I nearly didn’t catch it. “Gold or silver?”

I hesitated and wondered if a few measly questions could really do any damage after everything we’d already done together. “Silver.” I decided to ask a question of my own. “Blue or green?”

All I heard was myself swallow. With the glass of wine perched at my lips, I turned to the short hall leading to the bathing room, thinking he wouldn’t answer me.

Then he finally did. “Neither. Naked or clothed?”

I laughed, full-bodied and now understanding this game of his. “Clever.”

“Not an answer.”

“What’s the stone for?” I asked, mainly to keep my eyes from sticking to his perfect rear, those muscular thighs, as he left the bedchamber and crossed the hall to the bathing room. “The one in your chest of drawers.”

“Been snooping, have we?” But he didn’t sound displeased. Merely amused. Water sloshed, followed by silence, then, “Come here.”

I dragged my finger around the chipped rim of the wineglass. “That’s not an answer.”

This beast I’d grown far too fond of had a rather alarming amount of liquor within his otherwise near-empty cupboards indeed. I hadn’t pressed him to tell me more about the collection, and I also hadn’t protested when he’d presented the wine.

I’d reminded myself that his demons and addictions and his life were none of my concern.

Yet the desire to know more, to know as much as possible, still tormented. As if I were being tugged down a road I knew I couldn’t allow myself to travel, I was trying and failing to remain at the crossroads. A battle against the urge to spoil myself stupid before retreating to that of which I could never escape.

A battle I was losing.

“Come here, and I’ll answer.”

I scowled, water trickling from inside the shadowed bathing room. Commander indeed.

Cedar-and-oat-scented bubbles frothed against the edges of the tub and floated toward the cracked ceiling. Candlelight flickered from two corners.

Wine in hand, I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and watched his lips curl, though his eye was shut. “This looks cozy.”

“The rock is the only thing I have of my mother.”

“Sentimental then,” I said, taking a sip of wine. Since I hadn’t seen any other treasures or portraits, I knew I had to be right.

He groaned, those giant legs half exposed as he squeezed his upper torso deeper into the tub. “If that’s what you wish to call it. Do you make a habit of warping wherever you like?” he asked. “Or was this the first time?”