‘Si. To help you relax after your shock.’ I throw her a teasing smile, hoping a bit of humour might lighten the mood.
She blinks at me, then nods. It’s a jerky movement and I’m suddenly terrified she’s about to cry.
‘I’ll fix you a glass of wine to drink while it’s running,’ I say, turning away quickly and heading for the kitchen.
There is a low pull of shame in my belly as I yank open the fridge door. I can’t stand to see a woman cry, especially if it’s of my making. That’s one of the reasons I don’t do long-term relationships. No emotional fall-out to deal with.
I find an ice-cold bottle of champagne and pour a generous measure into a flute. Pausing for a moment, I take a breath and give myself a good talking to before heading back to deliver the drink to her. I find her in the living room, perched on the edge of the sofa as if she’s expecting me to throw her out any second and is primed to leave.
‘Here you go,’ I say, holding the glass out to her.
She takes it with a small, grateful smile and I nod, relieved she’s not burst into tears in my absence.
‘I’ll go and run that bath,’ I tell her, heading straight out of the room before she can reply.
I fill the enormous tub almost to the brim and add lots of lavender-scented bubble bath for good measure. Then I light all the candles that are positioned in colourful little semi-melted mounds around the edge and turn off the main light, casting the room into a soft, comforting glow.
If that doesn’t help her relax, I don’t know what will.
Except for an orgasm, of course. But that’s the next step in my plan to win back her good favour.
She looks at me with wary eyes when I come out to tell her the bath is ready, murmuring her thanks before slipping off, her shoulders hunched and her chin dipped.
While she’s in there, I pace the room, agitation making me antsy. I know I’ve got a lot of making up to do to restore her faith in me. The last thing I want is for her to decide to go home tomorrow, convinced I don’t have her best interests at heart. My father would not be pleased to hear I’d pissed off the youngest daughter of Maxim Darlington-Hume in twenty-four hours flat.
And, to be honest, I’d be gutted not to get the opportunity to get to know Juno better. I’ve really started to like her. She’s such a smart, fascinating woman who clearly has her own issues with family, which has made me feel closer to her. It seems we’re more in sync than I’d initially thought.
Twenty minutes later she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in an oversized towelling robe with her long hair freshly washed, dried and hanging in a smooth sheet down her back. I have a strong urge to wrap it around my hands and pull her close, to drag that robe from her curvaceous body and do all manner of pleasurable things to her. But I know I need to tread carefully here. I don’t want to spook her again. This requires some careful handling.
‘I thought you might have gone to bed,’ she says in a quiet voice, tapping the brush she’s carrying gently against her thigh.
I move towards her, holding up my hands in a peace offering. ‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay.’ Taking the brush from her, I gesture towards the nearest sofa. ‘Sit down. Let me brush your hair.’
‘Seriously?’ she says, her nose wrinkled in surprise.
‘Si. I want to feel it in my hands.’
‘Uh, okay.’ She sits on the seat nearest to her, turning her back to me, and I sit down behind her and take the long swathe of her hair in my hand. It’s beautifully lustrous and feels soft and smooth against my skin. I forcibly have to stop myself from letting out a groan of pleasure as the strands slip through my fingers.
I begin to smooth the brush down her hair, from her scalp to the very ends, and I smile when I hear her let out a small sigh of pleasure.
‘You like having your hair brushed?’
‘I love it. Though you’re the first person, other than my hairdresser, that’s ever done it for me.’
‘It’s such a beautiful colour. Like autumn bonfires.’
She lets out anmmm-hmmsort of noise, but doesn’t say anything else.
‘Why do you keep it tamed all the time?’
She leaves a small pause hanging in the air before answering, as if she’s deciding whether or not to tell me the truth. ‘Honestly, it draws too much attention to me when it’s down, and I find that hard to handle.’
I shake my head. ‘Well, I think that’s a travesty.’
Her breathing quickens as I continue to stroke the brush through her hair and after a few moments I see her visibly begin to relax, her shoulders dropping and her back arching as if it’s giving her real pleasure now.
‘I’m sorry about tonight,’ I mumble quietly into her ear.
