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I, however, hadn’t showered. And though the day hadn’t involved a lot of dirt, riding was hard work, and I was more than aware of the dirt and sweat dried on my skin.
Not to mention the low throb in my calf. I’d been surprised how quickly I’d recovered. It was nothing more than a bad bee sting. This was lucky, I knew, just another part of the magic of the Hammond ranch.
Duke, of course, asked about it intermittently throughout the days since the bite. He’d been gruff and aggressive when he thought I was doing too much. This was followed by me getting aggressive back, much to the entertainment of whatever family member was watching at the time.
Duke’s lips at my neck put my attention right in this moment, although I wasn’t sure how I’d let it shift in the first place.
“You go have a bath, baby. I’ll take care of dinner,” he murmured.
“A bath? Dinner? Are you trying to woo me, Mr. Hammond?”
A grin. Lips on mine. “You bet your beautiful ass I am, Ms. Edwards.” He swatted my butt. “Bath.”
Now, I wasn’t inclined to take orders from Duke, but it had already been established that I’d lost much of my resolve this morning. Plus, I needed the bath. I had coveted it since we first moved in here but had always thought it was too much—soaking naked in the bath if Duke was on the other side of the door.
Showering was bad enough.
Thoughts of what this night was meant to be trailed along behind me as I made my way toward the master bedroom. How much had changed since this morning? Surely Duke was a guy able to separate sex from emotions. In fact, it didn’t take an evolved man to do that. It just took any man. Duke was not any man. He was exceptionally smart and aware. Sure, I saw the wild passion in his eyes this morning. It had been damn near feral. But he was also not a man who I thought would lose control easily, especially in a situation like this, where our relationship was meant to be strictly professional.
He knew what he was doing.
I had no fucking clue.
But right now, I was taking a bath. One step at a time.
I undressed in the bedroom, throwing my clothes in a hamper that was magically emptied at some point during the day. My clothes—underwear included—were always neatly folded and put away. For someone used to having almost everything done for me, that felt uncomfortable here. I should be able to do my own laundry. Did Duke have it done because he thought I was a pampered princess who would throw a fit if she had to do her own laundry?
No, if Duke thought that, he’d make sure I was the only one that did the laundry.
A mystery. A small, seemingly insignificant one at that, but one that bothered me nonetheless.
I wrapped myself in my robe, snatched a book, and went into the bathroom. I gasped softly with what I found. More candles. A shit of a lot more. Every surface was piled high with them, enough to illuminate the full bath, bubbles and all. I stuck my hand in the water.
Warm.
Bordering on hot.
Freshly filled.
Harriet. Yet again.
I should’ve found it weird that the grandmother of the man I was…whatever I was, had drawn a bubble bath for me, lit candles and prepared a romantic night where her grandson was going to get lucky.
It was weird.
It was totally Harriet, and I loved it.
I also loved that Duke had not only thought of doing something like this, but enlisted the help of his insane grandmother.
Sinking into the water, I tried to shake off my reservations, wipe at them with a loofa as if they would glide off me. It was kind to call them reservations. The more accurate description would be fears.
I was terrified at how happy a fucking bath and some candles made me, how the gesture and the people involved were snaking under my skin in a way I knew would mark me forever.
They’d eventually be nothing more than marks…scars. Because this was a good, clean family. Even Duke, who I was sure had marks on his soul—had done some bad shit—was clean too.
But the dirt was more than just under my nails. The shine, the fame, the money, it was all smoke and mirrors so no one saw how filthy and broken I really was.
Self-deprecating thoughts were cut short when another person entered the bathroom. I jumped, swishing the water over the edge.
“It’s me,” Duke said, calmly, apologetic.
Of course it was him. No way would macho-man Duke let anyone come skulking into this place.
Even though bubbles were covering most of my body and Duke’s lips had been on my pussy this morning, I felt shy.
