Pressure built behind my eyes. What a mess. Twenty-eight years old working for a pittance and praying the one man who knew my secret would keep it. How had I let my life get to this?
Daylight dimmed, and drowsiness trickled into my bones. Ignoring my tired reflection, I leaned my forehead against the frosted windowpane, my warm breath fogging the inside of the glass.
If I could get through the next few days without falling to the floor and curling into the fetal position, I could get through anything.
A dull ache pulsed between my shoulder blades, and I rolled my shoulders back to work out the kinks. Wedding planning could wait for another hour while I soaked in a bath hot enough to scald my skin. Disappearing from reality for a while was the perfect solution. I would close my eyes and pretend I hadn’t said the most infuriating yet sexiest man I’d ever met was my fiancé.
Subdued light from a frosted window spilled into the slate-tiled bathroom. A broom-closet-sized shower cubicle stood at the far end of the room, and a heavenly white claw-footed tub with a curved top sat in the middle.
Beside the tub was a wicker basket filled with a dusty mishmash of soaps and soaks. I rummaged around and chose a small purple bottle with a picture of lavender on the label. There was no knowing how old it was or if it was still in date, and there was only one way to find out. I opened the bottle and sniffed. It didn’t smell like it would melt my skin on contact.
I turned the squeaky faucets and poured the purple liquid into the steaming flow of water. A soft, musky aroma drifted upward, and I prayed it would help unwind some of the tension twisting my muscles. The thought of lowering myself into the plump bubbles and soaking until my skin wrinkled filled me with happy anticipation.
Making sure I locked the bathroom door because Keegan catching me naked and covered in bubbles would be a disaster, I undressed.
I tested the temperature with my toes and then inched my adrenaline-ravaged body into the welcoming warmth. My muscles turned to goo on contact. A glass of wine would relax me even more, or better, a bottle. Barb had the right idea, but getting wasted wasn’t the answer, even if it sounded like a perfectly reasonable solution.
My mind drifted back to Keegan’s kiss, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine he was my fiancé. The day’s events blurred, and I pictured him sitting behind me in the tub, his firm thighs encasing mine. Perhaps locking the door wasn’t one of my better ideas. What would happen if he walked in on me?
To shut the world out, I closed my eyes and imagined him holding me, kissing me, stroking me. Beneath the water, my nipples stiffened, and an all too familiar ache settled deep in my pelvis.
Stop.
Right now.
What the actual fuck was I doing? My eyes snapped open, and I hauled in a mammoth breath. Keegan Devlin was not my fiancé, and imagining he was anything more than an asshole was a colossal mistake. This—everything—was his fault. If he hadn’t storm-trooped into my life and kissed me, then my body wouldn’t crave or ache for his touch.
Groaning at my foolish fantasy, I sank into the water and cushioned my chin on top of the bubbles. If it wasn’t all so ludicrous, I would’ve laughed at the way my body reacted to him. And even though I knew it was ludicrous, an insane need urged me to brush my fingers over my nipples and then go lower.
Cooling water hauled me from a deep sleep, and when my eyes flew open, dark shadows from the night sky had claimed the bathroom. I leaped out of the tub and grabbed a rough towel from the rail behind the door.
Stepping into Antarctica would’ve been warmer than stepping onto the floor. I shivered, and goosebumps pebbled my skin, and I half expected my extremities to turn black from frostbite.
A puffy reflection stared back from the gilded mirror hanging over the sink. My so-called waterproof mascara had leaked into every fine line around my eyes. No one would believe I hadn’t been partying hard.
I grabbed a makeup wipe from my toiletry bag and scrubbed my raccoon eyes. When I no longer looked like I’d been on a two-day bender, I threw on a papery white robe that stank of industrial detergent and opened the bathroom door.
The flames now crackled merrily in the hearth and bathed the room in a cozy glow. A night by the fire catching up on emails while binge-watching Christmas movies seemed heavenly.
A gentle snore from behind the canopy told me I wasn’t alone. Shit. He must have sneaked in while I was asleep in the tub.
I inched the gauzy curtain back. Keegan’s sprawled body took up most of the freshly made bed, his chest rising and falling with every breath. He’d changed from his suit into a ratty Mets tee and a pair of gray sweatpants. Max curled up by his side, and the sight of them napping together, hugged my heart.
Firelight danced across the contours of Keegan’s face, highlighting his long eyelashes and high cheekbones. There was no denying he was sexy as hell. Shame his personality would give the devil a run for his money.
He shifted on the mattress, and the edge of his t-shirt rode up. A thin rope of dark hair twisted down his flat stomach and beneath the elastic of his sweats. I looked closer. The suit he’d worn today hid a whole lotta nice. Ripped abs told me Keegan made good use of the gym. Tingles of pleasure bounced around my nerves. What was wrong with me? The sex-starved hormones assaulting my synapses needed to give
