Page 62 of Dirty Boss

Vaughn smiled, then pulled me closer so he could kiss my forehead. He said nothing; he just held me close.

I wasn’t crying over zucchini, though. I was crying over the fact that I hadn’t had the love I needed growing up. I’d never been treated like my own person.

“Thank you,” I whispered, burying my face in Vaughn’s neck.

He stroked my back and held me, and I indulged in a few more tears before taking a deep breath to pull myself together.

“Come on,” Vaughn said when I’d straightened. He stood and stretched out his hand.

“Where are we going?”

His pale blue eyes sparkled in the warm light of the living room lamps. “We’re going upstairs. I’m going to run you a bath.”

I arched a brow. “Oh?”

“And I’m going to get in it with you.”

I laughed and put my palm in his. “Deal.”

TWENTY

VAUGHN

Steam rose from the bath,and Alba leaned her head against my shoulder. Her back was to my front, her legs pressing against mine. My fingers made tight circles in her hair, the scent of my shampoo filling my nose.

Alba let out a groan. “That feels so good.”

I hummed in response, tilting my head away as I used a small container to rinse some of the shampoo from her strands. Her chest rose and fell, the pink of her nipples poking out above the surface of the water. I knew she could feel me, half-hard behind her, but neither of us reacted to my arousal.

I wanted to take care of her in a way I hadn’t really experienced before. Sure, I’d been in a position to step in and take care of my aging mother when my dad died. I stepped up for my daughter. My ex-wife had always relied on me. But Alba tugged at that instinct within me in a new way. She was so self-reliant. She’d picked herself up off the ground after being thrown out by the selfish monsters she called family, dusted herself off, and decided she could make it on her own.

She didn’t run back to them. Didn’t bend her morals in order to fit in.

I admired the hell out of that—and I understood why parts of her were so hard, so brittle. She had a sharp tongue because she needed it to keep her sense of self. She kept her walls up all the time, because that’s what she’d needed to do to survive.

None of the other people in my life that I’d taken care of—mother, daughter, ex-wife—had that kind of mettle. And the fact that Alba had chosen me to lean on, that her body was limp and relaxed atop mine, that she’d trusted me earlier with her body…that meant something to me.

I cherished it. Cherished her. I wanted to be the man who took care of her always.

When my thoughts drifted to that sniveling idiot we’d met at the French restaurant, my pressure on Alba’s scalp increased. She hummed, and I turned my attention back to the task, but not before my lips curled at the memory of him.

Never again would she be made to feel small. Never again would she have to run from a restaurant because someone else made her feel like she didn’t belong.

Alba belonged with me now. She belongedtome. She was mine, and I wasn’t going to let her go.

I rinsed her hair, then pulled out the only conditioner I had in the house. Alba cracked an eyelid when she heard the cap open, then snorted.

“My Little Pony conditioner?”

“You can’t deny that their manes are lush and sparkly.”

She laughed and let me work the product through her hair. It was slick, her hair darkened in its wet state, and my fingers ran through it with ease. Alba peeled herself off me to dunk her head, then turned around in the tub and settled herself on top of my lap, her forearms on my shoulders. My hands naturally found the curves of her hips, thumbs angled toward her navel.

We fit. There was no other way to say it. Her body fit against mine like it had been made to sit here, just like this.

“I’ve never had a man wash my hair with such care after screwing my brains out.”

“Then you haven’t lived.”