I set my things on the floor by my door, too lazy to be neat and orderly, lock up, and then head to the bedroom where I start taking off my clothes. From the lack of light streaming under the door, I’m assuming she’s already asleep.
I assume wrong when I hear the faint sound of music coming from the bathroom.
Not wanting to scare her, I call out. “Hey, I’m home.”
“In here,” she says somberly.
Shirt undone, ready to undo my pants as well, I peek into the bathroom to find her lying in the tub, covered in bubbles, reading. One leg is perched over the side and even though there are a lot of bubbles, they barely cover her chest.
Motherfucker.
“Uh, sorry, I didn’t know—”
“You’re fine,” she says, not giving me any attention. Must be a good book. “Do what you need to do. I’m going to finish reading this sex scene and then go to bed.”
“Sex scene?” I ask, my throat closing up on me.
“Mmm . . .” She nods and shifts in the tub, one of her hands disappearing under the bubbles.
What the fuck is she doing with that hand?
And is she going to do something with that hand while I’m brushing my teeth?
Either way, I’m not staying long enough to find out. Like a madman, I brush my teeth, turning my back toward her so I don’t see any movements, and then I’m out of there before I can be caught staring.
In my closet, I get rid of the rest of my clothes, and consider going to bed naked like normal, but then I think better of it. I pull on a fresh pair of boxer briefs. If she wasn’t in the bathroom, doing whatever it is she’s doing, I’d take a shower to cool off from my long day of agony. Not getting that luxury today, which reminds me, I need to fire the construction crew who’s redoing my guest area. They are taking way too fucking long. At the time, I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal, that was until I found myself a fake bride. Now I’m wishing I put more pressure on them to finish things up.
Feeling tortured with no relief, I head for my bed but forgot about my contacts.
Fuck.
I glance toward the bathroom. Is she . . . done?
If I wasn’t waiting on my new batch of contacts to come in, I’d chuck these and call it a day, but I don’t have any spares, and I left my glasses at my office.
Annoyed, I walk to the bathroom and knock on the door. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” she calls out. That seems promising.
It does until I walk in and see her with a towel wrapped around her torso with her hair piled on top of her head. The towel rides low on her breasts, almost dangerously low, because with one flick of my finger the terrycloth would be on the floor.
Turning my attention to my contacts, I work on taking them out while Charlee lotions her body next to me with the sweetest lavender lotion I’ve ever smelled.
Christ, that smells fucking incredible.
She props one leg on the bathtub, her towel riding high, and she spreads the lotion over one long limb and then she repeats the treatment to her other leg. I’m mesmerized, not paying attention to my contacts whatsoever.
When she stands, she catches me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Checking you out.” As I’ve said before, I’m honest. And I have no other excuses to give her. She’s gorgeous.
“Well, stop it. I’m still mad at you.”
Setting my contact case down, I say, “Why are you mad at me?”
She steps beside me and grabs her toothbrush, her bare shoulder rubbing against mine. “Because, the mere suggestion that I plan everything on my own is insulting.” She cutely sticks her chin in the air and starts brushing her teeth. I prop my hip on the counter and watch her frantic movements as she jiggles her toothbrush in and out.
“I wasn’t expecting you to plan the whole thing, just get started.” She spits and rinses.
“Still, I was trying to be nice and help you out, and you just kicked me out of the office as if I didn’t mean anything to you. I am your fake fiancée and executive assistant. You can be nicer. I thought that’s what we were going to be, nicer.”
“I didn’t think I was mean.”
“You were,” she says, trying to walk past me, but I snag her hand, stilling her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice low, my libido ramping and ready to go. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
She looks up at me, probably shocked that I apologized. “Oh . . . well, thank you.”
She goes to walk away again, but I keep my hold tight on her. “I was frustrated.” We’re standing side by side, each facing a different direction, our gazes locked on each other. The temptation to loop my finger through her towel is strong.
“With work?”
I lick my lips. “With you.”
“Wh-what did I do?” she asks, her voice growing raspy. Her chest rises and falls at a faster pace, more exaggerated, as if anticipation is consuming her.
I drag my finger up her arm, fascinated by the goosebumps that rise along the trail of my finger. Don’t do it, Rath. Don’t cross that line.
“That skirt,” I say, my voice gruff, strained. “You were fucking flaunting it in my face all day.”
Her eyes widen. I realize right then and there, she wasn’t doing it on purpose, because if she was, she’d have a sly smile on her face, not a surprised look.
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Well, you did,” I say, my body itching to take her against the wall. To lift her up on the counter and spread her legs, to let that towel drop to the floor so I can taste her hard, delectable nipples. “You drove me crazy, all fucking day. And by the time dinner rolled around, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed you gone.”
“Oh.” She bites down on her bottom lip, making me insane with need instantly, especially when I watch her teeth roll over her plump lip.
“And now, you in the tub, bubbles barely covering your fucking tits, your gorgeous leg out on the tub, your hand lowered under the bubbles.” I step in closer, moving her so she’s facing me now. “Were you touching yourself?” She doesn’t answer, just lifts her eyes barely to look at me. “Are you trying to drive me insane?”
“It’s not my intention.”
“You’re telling me, tempting me in this skimpy towel isn’t intentional?”
Something flashes in her eyes, and there’s a light tug on the corner of her lips that makes me growl out in frustration . . . as I push her against the wall of the bathroom, my hands on her hips, her shocked breath escaping her as I hold her still.
“I fucking knew it. You’re trying to torture me. Why?”
Her breath picks up, and her eyes search mine. “Payback.”
“Payback for what?” I growl.
Her eyes motion down my torso and back up. “For that.”
“Because I’m shirtless?”
“Yes. You think that’s easy for me, to have you walking around without a shirt on? It’s not.”
My breath comes out in short bursts, my heart is beating a mile a minute, while my dick hardens with every lift and lowering of her breasts behind her towel. I move my hands from her hips and connect with her wrists. Slowly, I raise her arms above her head and pin them against the wall.