My impulse to look at who touched me is thwarted by the shower turning on beside us.
If Eric realizes we’re no longer alone, he doesn’t show it, staying focused only on what my hand is doing to him. The hand that grazed mine is back, covering it, before slipping away again.
Then I turn to peek.
Wishing instantly that I hadn’t.
Aaron’s body shifts into view, a devilish grin on his face. I can’t stop my curiosity as my quick glance takes him in from head to toe.
Jesus, Lord Almighty. I’m in trouble.
Quickly pulling my right hand back from the tiled wall, I step into Eric’s shower, not caring anymore if I end up soaked through. “Someone’s here,” I whisper, frantically.
Not just anyone…
The way my body reacted to seeing Aaron is a problem.
Laughing, Eric quickly rinses himself. Once he shuts the shower off, we dart out to grab his bag. He pulls on a pair of sweats and slips on his shoes. In less than a minute, we’re back in the pool area, both of us breathless.
My heart is beating wildly, my breath coming in pants.
He hugs me tightly. “I don’t think anyone saw you. We’re good.”
Right. So good…
I’m officially entering the danger zone. I have no doubt I love Eric. I’m in love with him. So why is Aaron pulling at my heart? Or is it just physical? He’s handsome… but not more than my boyfriend. He’s sneaky, an attribute I don’t find alluring at all. He’s arrogant, duplicitous, too smart for his own good. My God, I think…
He’s a challenge I can’t turn away from.
Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth Housman
I’m avoiding him.
It’s the only sane thing to do in this situation. I keep Henry and Amy close, skirting all the places I know he goes during the day.
But by midday, Henry picks up on it. “Biz, what did Aaron do now?”
“Who?” I nearly fumble my soda.
Henry rolls his eyes with a humorless chuckle. “Spare me the act, Biz. Fess up. What did the grand ass do now?”
There’s no torture known to man that could compel me to tell them.
I change the subject. “The Divinitiespainting is in the chapel. The one from Rockefeller’s private collection. Do you want to see it?”
Neither Amy nor Henry seem impressed by the news or the idea, but they follow me to the unlocked balcony anyway.
“Very religious looking,” Amy says, adjusting her glasses. “Very churchy indeed.”
“It’s lovely, although I like the waterfall painting you did more.” Henry squints at it and shrugs.
When I say that I’ve been obsessed with this painting since I saw it as a child in a coffee table book my aunt had, I’m not kidding. I’ve committed to memory everything from the light through the clouds to the way it reflects off the flowing white garments. I wanted to paint and draw because of the way the painting made me feel.
That’s why I’m dumbstruck right now, my mouth dropping open in a gasp.
“Biz? What is it?” Amy asks before following my gaze to the painting. “Oh, is it the scuff mark on the frame? I bet they could buff it out.”
