“Hmm?” His grin widened.
“Did you need something else?”
“Nope, I’m good.” As casual as hell, he walked over to the side of the bathtub, grabbed some salts and a bath bomb, and started making my bath like he’d done it a million times.
And then he pulled out a lighter from his back pocket and lit the candles I rarely used for anything but decoration around the tub.
It was like a private retreat just for me.
He got up and lowered the lights, and then his hands were on my shoulders, sliding down the silk until it was halfway down my arms. “I’m not going to close my eyes.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Who says you have to say anything? I just wanted you to know. In a lot of things, I can be a gentleman, but when it comes to watching you walk toward that bath and sink deep—” He hissed out a curse. “—yeah, I’m going to have to be completely honest. Even if I said I’d close my eyes, I would peek.”
I immediately relaxed. “I like your honesty.”
“Let me help. He continued slithering the bathrobe down to my waist, and then he pulled the sash. The robe fell in a pool of silk at my feet.
His hands moved to my bare skin. His calluses from playing guitar were rough against my hips. I wanted more. I wanted to beg him to just hold me like that, to kiss down my back and make promises both of us knew he couldn’t keep.
“Ask me,” he whispered. “Ask me for something selfish.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I stared straight ahead at the bath. What if I had nothing to lose? What if my heart wasn’t in danger? What if this wouldn’t end badly? What if this was just one week, and I could ask for anything I wanted in the world?
What would I ask for?
I took a step toward the bath and then looked over my shoulder. His eyes were blazing as he watched me; I could feel the need pulsing off him like it was my own.
Without thinking twice about it, I asked, “Do you want to join me?”
Apparently, I’d stunned him into complete silence. He stared first at me then the bath then back at me. “Is that your selfish request?”
“No, my selfish request was for you to touch me, but I figured that could get out of hand really fast…”
“Literally.” His chuckle was dark, delicious as it wrapped itself around me. “It’s like you know me so well.”
“I’m starting to.” I didn’t wait for more of his response. I just turned back toward the bath and quickly got in then sank all the way down to my neck.
“Why does this feel like you’re doing me a favor?” Drew asked as he peeled his tank over his head and tossed it to the ground.
The man was a god.
Every thickly chorded muscle seemed so tight that I wondered if he even knew how to take deep breaths.
His tatted hands moved to the front of his jeans.
I’d never seen a guy strip before— My ex had always wanted sex to be quick, which I later found out was because he was cheating, and our sex life was basically nonexistent after the third time I got pregnant.
—until that night.
I licked my lips as Drew slowly inched his jeans down.
No boxers.
No briefs.
He sprang free but ignored his obvious erection as he stepped out of his pants and then walked toward me.
His two necklaces swung with each step.
How he managed to look so masculine and sexy wearing more jewelry than I was impossible to understand.
If I focused on the necklaces, I wouldn’t look at his cock. I wouldn’t be tempted to stare, and I wouldn’t embarrass myself by asking if I could stare more or even touch it.
He was beautiful.
Hard, smooth, olive skin that made me feel like I was boiling beneath the hot water.
“You’re going to have to move over so I can fit,” he whispered.
And, of course, I had to look down at his arousal again and stare.
“Not that,” he teased. “That I know will fit.”
“Drew—”
“It’s just a bath, Bronte.”
No, it wasn’t.
He knew it.
I knew it.
This was the start of something.
A line had been drawn in the sand.
And I’d invited him to cross it.
No regrets.
Even as he sank down and gently pulled me to his chest. Even as he ran his fingers down my back then mimicked the same motion with soap in his hands, and even when he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of my head.
I knew.
The line hadn’t just been crossed.
It had disappeared completely.
And never had my heart felt freer.
Or more afraid.
CHAPTER 9
Andrew
I finally understood the true meaning of torture, and it was right in front of me. It wasn’t even Bronte. It was the damn water. With each breath, each movement, it lapped across her breasts.
It didn’t help that we had three high school girls in the other room, whose giggles I could still hear while that water kept licking and kissing Bronte’s smooth fair skin… tempting me, teasing me, making me question right from wrong.
“Tell me something bad.” I danced my fingertips down her arm. I wanted nothing more than to hold her firm against my body, trap her there, feel the heat between us explode into such fiery need that we both gave in.
To everything.
Instead, I, Drew Amhurst, was making conversation.
What the hell is wrong with me?
My body told me to act.
My head told my body it was a stellar idea even though my dick had been onboard days ago.
But my stupid heart, the one that fought between dark and light, wrong and right, said, wait.
Just wait.
I hated that word, wait.
“Something bad?” She shifted enough that the water lapped around us again, giving me a brief glimpse of rosy nipples.
I hated that all my brain could conjure up was the word touch. I had no poetry, nothing, just touch, want, lick. Mine.
All the things I wasn’t supposed to be doing as I
