“Sure.” Jeremy scooted closer to Elaine, who sat between him and John.
I unbuttoned my coat, hopping from one foot to the other. I tried hard not to look at John. Not to look at the curves of his collarbones or the biceps I’d glimpsed that morning.
Bowie, thunder please. Any time now!
“And then I went to study in Oxford,” I heard him say.
Of course he had. Fancy bastard. I slipped my coat off my shoulders.
“When I met my mentor…” He didn’t finish his sentence.
Draping the coat over a nearby chair, I made a point of ignoring his reaction. All their reactions. I knew how I looked. I’d seen what they saw not five minutes ago.
Black lace wound around my breasts. The cups were cut in a balconette style and pushed my girls into their best shape. The bottom of the two-piece rose high above my hips, then formed a deep V underneath my pierced belly button. Black vines of roses traveled from my legs underneath the small slip of lace that just about coveredplaces, then up to the tattoo of rose petals between my breasts. I forced myself to keep my arms relaxed, refraining from the urge to cover the violent red scar on my stomach. The scar that shaped the centerpiece of my inky rose garden. I wasn’t embarrassed about it; it was part of me. Part of my history and a token of one of the worst days of my life. A scar that ran deeper on the inside than they could imagine. I just…didn’t want to answer any questions.
“Elaine was so kind as to lend me a suit,” I said, to distract.
Elaine’s face had fallen. As if my presence personally insulted her.
“Well, thank you for that, Elaine.” May whistled, raising her glass and winking at me. “If I woke up tomorrow looking like Miss Nora over there, I’d never wear clothes again.”
“Agreed,” Jeremy said, then clinked his glass with hers.
I bit away a nervous smile.
Elaine just downed her champagne in one go. Then stretched over the side of the pool to refill it, her ass in the air, dangerously close to John, who didn’t seem to notice one bit. But he wasn’t looking at my scar, either. His face was trained on mine.
“How are the hemorrhoids?”
Jeremy snorted so hard, he had bubbles coming out of his nose.
I gave John a pointed look and flipped him off.
He cleared away a smirk and continued his conversation with Jeremy. No comment about the scar, the tattoos, or the tiny black thing that was dreaming of becoming a bathing suit when it grew up.
“Get in before you freeze some of those lovely parts off, Nora,” May said, wriggling to the side and unfortunately ruining my plans to sit between her and Jeremy. Instead, I had to wedge next to—well, you-know-who.
I couldn’t suppress a moan of pleasure as the near-scalding heat kissed my icy toes. Then I submerged myself up to my neck. It was...so bloody good.
“Fucking Jesus Christ in hell.”
Elaine choked on her drink.
“You should rinse your blasphemous mouth.” John bent over the back of the hot tub, rising until his navel was visible and giving me an eyeful of glistening, wet muscles over his stomach, where a small line of hair drifted down below the surface. I swallowed, pointedly watching snow drift over treetops. A glass filled to the brim with champagne appeared in front of me.
“Here.”
“One should never drink and swim,” I said, taking a big gulp. The heat was almost too much. Clouds of breath filled the space between us as snowflakes settled into the water.
I leaned my head against the back of the tub, shivering in pleasure as each of my muscles loosened. Okay, this wasn’t too bad. I just had to keep my eyes straight and my thoughts PG-13.
The group fell into a comfortable rhythm, talking about which Lew Elliott book was their favorite and who would play whom in the movie adaptation of their version of the series.
“I think Tom Hiddleston would be the choice for the captain. Or Idris Elba,” said Jeremy, whose reddish curls had gotten even curlier. He’d put the sunglasses on his head, now covered in snow. It had really picked up. But somehow, the heat of the tub,the soothing bubbles, the chill, crisp air, and the slight buzz of the champagne had an odd effect on me. I was actually enjoying myself. This wasn’t just mundane small talk. We chatted about our common interests. My social anxiety was pleased. This was...nice. So nice, in fact, that I could almost ignore the proximity of someone’s boil-free body.
I hmmed at his suggestion.
“I like to see someone who is maybe a little older. Charismatic. Mads Mikkelsen, for example.”
