Love Me

I hear him walk back into the bathroom. I peek out the closet door and see that he has the bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two flutes. He sets it all on the floor next to tub and starts the water. Then he starts opening cabinets. He pokes around, pulls out two fluffy white towels and a bottle of bubble bath, and dumps a bunch in.

He’s also wearing a swimsuit.

I quickly pull off my dress, hang it up, slip on my cashmere robe, and saunter out.

He immediately pulls me into his arms, kisses me, and slides his hand inside my robe.

Straight on top of my naked boob.

“Oh!” he says, quickly pulling his hand out from under my robe, like my skin just burned it. “I didn’t know . . .”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t sure what the plan was.”

“The plan? Tonight is about not making plans.”

“Uh, okay. I’ll, uh, go put on a, uh, swimsuit.”

I run back into my closet, throw on a bikini, and hurry back to the bathtub before he changes his mind.

“Why don’t you get in first?” I tell Aiden. While I was changing, he dragged my bedside table into the bathroom and has the champagne within easy reach.

“This is hot,” he says, slowly lowering his sexy body into my tub.

I’m not sure how to get in. I want to sit on top of him. Straddle him. Make him want me.

But he turns me around and says, “Lean back and relax.”

Not only do we fit together when we’re dancing, but my back nestles perfectly into his chest.

“I'm never taking a bath by myself again.”

“Why's that?”

“Because your chest is warm and soft. The back of the tub is cold and hard.”

He cups a handful of bubbles and places then on my chest, making what looks like a huge towering penis.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“If you think I'm trying to create the Empire State Building out of bubbles, you'd be right.”

“Oh,” I giggle.

He kisses my neck. “You have a dirty mind.”

“Maybe,” I laugh. “Can I rub it? Will bubbles come out?’

“You’re bad,” he says, kissing my neck some more. “It's cute.”

“It is?”

“Yes,” he replies, handing me a flute.

“Are we still drinking to rainy days?”

“Hmm, no. Now, we’re drinking to ice.”

He clinks my glass and we both sip champagne.

“Ice?” I ask.

He reaches his arm out of the tub, setting down his glass and grabbing a piece of ice. He shows me the ice and then pops it in his mouth. I assume he eats it, but instead I feel the ice between his lips, gliding purposefully down my neck. The ice melts quickly—probably because my body is on freaking fire—so he replaces it with another piece. This piece stays in his hand as he runs the point of the ice like he did the feather. Slowly— excruciatingly slowly—down into my cleavage. Then across my stomach. I take my legs out of the water, bending them at the knee and bracing them on the side of the tub.

And praying the piece of ice will find its way down a little further.

“I’ve died and gone to hottie heaven,” I whisper.

“What kind of heaven?”

“Oh, uh, I don't know,” I say, pressing my back into him and shamelessly raising my hips toward the ice. Toward his big fingers. I let out a little moan and arch my back as his lips find mine.

I roll myself over and lie on top of him. Which is not very comfortable, so I quickly sit up and straddle him. I can feel that he's hard. And I'm . . . I'd say I'm practically dry humping him, except we're wet. I'm wet humping him. Rubbing myself against him. Totally worked up. I reach down to untie his shorts. I have to have them off.

“Boots,” he says. “We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” I say, grabbing the string again. “I have condoms if you don’t.”

He grips my hand tightly. “Maybe I gave you the wrong idea. We're not having sex this weekend. Remember, you said that you wanted to wait.”

“That was before you rubbed ice down my legs.”

I place my lips hard on his, giving him a fiery kiss. Grabbing his tongue with mine. Sucking on it. Raking my hands roughly through his hair. And rocking my hips.

He grabs my hips, stopping their motion. “Okay. Bath time is over.”

I immediately bite the side of my lip. Trying not to make an obvious pout.

He kisses my lower lip, then my forehead. “Have you had a fun night?”

“Yes.”

“Isn't that what matters?”

“Yeah, it's just I wa

He looks me in the eyes, speaking directly to my soul. “This is the good part, Boots.” He edges himself out of the tub. “I’m go

“I’ll stay here and pout.”

He smirks at me and hands me the bottle of champagne.

I’m ready to take a big swig, but then I realize that he's in my shower. That water is ru

So I watch.

Watch and chug.

Chug and watch.

Imagine my fingers are the water.

Aiden gets out and wraps a towel around his swimsuit.

I’m not sure if he thought getting out of the tub and showering would help me cool off. Quench the flames of desire.

Um, no.

He’s wet. Glistening. Water droplets ru

I take another chug of champagne as he slides his shorts off and lays them on the counter to dry.

“You're naked in my towel,” I blurt out.

He grins at me, glances at his phone, and says, “Wa

Sunrises have always been B's and my thing. I suddenly feel guilty. Guilty I told B I'd give him another chance. Guilty I'm here with Aiden. Guilty that I’m a liar.

“I’m really tired. Aren't you?”

“I could probably sleep.” He kisses me full on the lips and says, “Goodnight then.”

“Aiden, wait.”

I may be feeling guilty, but the guilt comes wrapped in a loneliness that is almost unbearable.

Especially after the trip to Vancouver when I realized that Mom hasn’t called me even once. And now I understand why. I’ve become the threat too.

And while Vincent is still out there, I can’t see them again.

Aiden grabs the edge of my doorway and turns around. Damp and still wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel.

“I, uh, have a big bed.”

He laughs. “There's a big bed in my room too.”

“I don't . . . I’m fine if we don't, but I . . .” Why can't I speak a coherent sentence?

“Do you want me to sleep in here, with you?”

I shut my mouth and nod, thankful for once that he could read my mind.

“I’ll go grab some dry shorts.”

I run in my closet, strip off my wet bikini, and put on some sleep shorts and a cashmere pullover. I stop for a second and look in the mirror.

Ohmigawd. No wonder he didn't want to have sex with me. I look like the zombie apocalypse. How did my mascara end up all under my eyes?

I quickly put some oil on a cotton ball to rub it off. And my hair is a mess. Half wet, half up, half down.

I pull the pins out of it. Attempt to brush through the wet mess, give up, twirling it back into another bun. Then I brush my teeth.

I am so not having sex with Aiden tonight. Not even if he wants. I have to look beautiful and glamorous and draped in silk when we do it. My mind flits back to being kissed on his desk.

Or that would work.

I rub some rose scented lip balm across my lips and open the door.

Aiden is lying on my bed. I was wrong when I said it looked like my loft was designed for him.

My bed was designed for him.

He's shirtless, wearing white athletic shorts, and his hair looks like he dried it with a towel and didn't give it a second thought.

I bound onto the bed, grab a pillow, and smack him upside the head.

“Oh, really?” he says, holding onto my pillow as he grabs another one and hits me with it.

I'm laughing as I roll out of his grip and swing the pillow at him again. He ducks his head so it bounces off his shoulder as he grabs the pillow out of my hand and tosses it off the bed. Then he grabs my waist and flips me over so he’s lying on top of me. I reach out to tickle his sides, but he grabs both arms and holds them down above my head.