Then he watches with unnerving silence as the water fills the tub and the bubbles cover me to my breasts.
I squirm under his scrutiny. While I’m good with handling silence, I’m rubbish when it comes to Jonathan’s. Considering his reticent nature, it always feels like he’s communicating something with silence.
And it’s not usually good. Jonathan’s silence is the type that’s meant to keep you on your toes.
“You can go. You don’t have to keep watching me."
He doesn’t move or say anything. He remains at the edge of the bathtub, his arms crossed over his chest, and studies me intently, as if reading imaginary words off my face.
The intimidation that is Jonathan King knows no bounds. It’s like he was born to play the role of a bastard with no soul.
The fact that he has his emotions trapped in a vault, or worse, they don’t exist at all, makes him unpredictable.
There’s no way in hell to figure out what he’s thinking about, and I guess that’s what turns me into this confused ball whenever he’s around.
Despite steering clear of puzzles, there’s no denying how much I love solving them. The idea of digging my fingers into something and figuring it all out fills me with a rush of adrenaline.
The thought of never being able to do that with Jonathan is what’s throwing me into an endless loop with no way out.
“You have work, right?” I mutter.
“It can wait.”
“Did you just say work can wait? Isn’t that like blasphemy in your work god manual?”
He raises a brow, probably because of my sarcastic tone, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I own the work. It’s not the other way around.”
“Are you telling me that you could stop working tomorrow if you choose to?”
“I could, but I won’t. There’s no fun in hanging around when you can use those hours to be productive.”
“More like destructive,” I mutter to myself.
“If you have something to say, say it out loud. Hiding makes you seem like a coward, and you’re no coward, Aurora.”
His words send a tingle of pride down my spine. Not that I need Jonathan to tell me I’m no coward, but the fact that he’s probably always thought that way about me says something. No idea what, but it does.
He reaches a hand to my face and I stiffen. Is he going to stroke my cheek?
Now that I think about it, Jonathan hardly touches my face — if ever. The only time he’s done so was earlier when he checked my temperature. He’s never attempted to kiss me either. Not that I would peg Jonathan as the emotional type who would do that, but —
Why am I even thinking about it? First, the tightness in my chest because he left last night. And now, the fact that he didn’t touch my face or kiss me?
Instead of touching me, Jonathan reaches behind me and shuts the tap. My stomach sinks in with something different to relief.
He removes his jacket and lays it on the towel hanger, then undoes his shirt’s cuffs and rolls his sleeves up to expose his taut arms with masculine veins.
By the time he crouches beside me, I’m watching him as if he’s an alien. “What are you doing?”
He flops a hand in the bubbly water, right between my legs like he knows exactly where that is.
His strong fingers grab my aching thigh and rub long circles with a tenderness that I never thought Jonathan was capable of.
My muscles loosen with every passing second and his touch turns more soothing, pleasurable even. My head lies against the edge of the tub and my eyes flutter closed.
My legs open of their own accord the more Jonathan massages my inner thighs, his fingers inching towards my sensitive core, but not touching.
A low moan fills the air and it’s with utter horror that I realise it’s mine. I sink my teeth into the cushion of my bottom lip to keep any further sound from escaping.