“Um, I want to get this makeup off.” She looks toward the bathroom, the door standing open. “And maybe take that bath?”
“Sure.”
I show her through to the bathroom and she closes the door, leaving a small crack, which I immediately exploit. I’m starved for the sight of her after spending so little time together this week. We were in each other’s vicinity on set, and I gave her a few notes, but we’re firmly in Monk’s territory now with the musical numbers. Most of my notes center on how we’re capturing her and the band onstage.
From where I sit on the bed, I catch quick glimpses of her at my sink washing her face. She bends to rinse the cleanser away and when she rises and pats her face dry, in the mirror I see the faint rash across her nose and cheeks the makeup hid. She unzips her sundress, letting it fall into a floral pool around her feet. At the sight of her only in panties, my cock screams for release. It’s been me and my hand for the last couple of weeks, and I’m fine if that doesn’t change tonight, but damn. Seeing her again—the intimacy of her bare skin and toned curves—I’ll settle for this reminder of what we’ve had before and will have again whenever she’s ready. I’ll be content to hold her, and won’t pressure her for anything else, but I have to acknowledge at least to myself how much I want her.
“Um, this bathtub should come with a manual,” she calls out, amusement tinting her voice. “How do I get the hot water to work?”
“Oh, right.” I open the door wider, entering, but being careful not to look since she’s scrambling to cover herself, clutching a floor-length bathrobe like a shield. I could remind her I’ve probably seen and licked every inch of her body, but I resist that temptation, along with all the others she presents.
It’s a freestanding tub, big enough for the two of us if she wanted that. I want that.
“I rarely use it.” I twist the knobs until hot water flows. “I always shower. This temperature okay?”
She nods, testing the water with one hand and gripping the collar of the bathrobe with the other.
“Can I stay?” I ask, watching her face for signs of welcome or rejection. “So we can talk?”
Something close to distress flares in her expression. Everything in me wants to growl that she is mine and I am hers, and I won’t tolerate closed doors and bathrobes between us, but I don’t want to misstep. I miss her. I miss us together.
“Sorry. I’ll leave.” I start toward the door. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by—”
“You can stay.” She perches on the edge of the tub, sprinkling something white and powdery into the water.
“Are you sure?” I ask, even though I have no intention of leaving if she’s fine with me being here. I lean against the wall, fold my arms across my chest, and watch her with hungry eyes.
“I hope you plan to eat,” she says, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Something other than me, I mean.”
I laugh self-deprecatingly, diffusing some of the tension I don’t even understand that has crept up between us. “I’m hovering, huh?”
“You are. You don’t have to worry that I’ll pass out in the tub and drown.” She says it like I’m some nursemaid instead of her man who can barely restrain himself from fucking her in that bathtub.
“I’ve just missed you,” I say. “And it feels like you . . . have you been avoiding me?”
The laughter fades and she lowers her eyes to the marble floor. “No, of course not. We’ve been busy.”
“Not that busy.”
“I’ve been tired.” She raises defiant eyes like she’s daring me to question if she’s been too tired to spend time with me. Of course, I can’t.
“Then I’m glad we have this weekend,” I say, instead of calling her out on what I suspect is an excuse. I just can’t figure out why she’s been avoiding me.
“Me, too.” She glances at me surreptitiously before dropping the bathrobe and nearly diving into the tub before I can see much. She’s a blur of coppery legs and berry-tipped breasts. If I’d blinked I would have missed it, but it was enough to make my dick hard. I shift, crossing my legs at the ankle in hopes she’ll overlook how arousing I find this whole bath situation. She’s submerged in frothy bubbles, her pretty face and the colorful headscarf the only things visible.
I can’t stay away, so I walk over to the tub and sit on the edge, running my hand through the water.
She stiffens, her eyes glued to my hand clearing a path through the bubbles. I notice the razor on the small table by the tub.
I pick it up and turn it, smiling. “Shaving your legs?”
“Uh, yeah.” She clears her throat. “I plan to.”
“Can I help?”
I’ve never wanted to shave any part of a woman’s body, but it suddenly seems like the safest erotic thing I could do. Our gazes lock, and just beneath the reserve I’ve met more than once the last week, heat stirs.
I can work with heat.