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I stepped up into the bath and into his arms, and it was so warm there, cocooned in his grip as the shower rained down on me. He tipped my face up to the cascade, and I held my breath and closed my eyes as his fingers washed away the stickiness and the saltiness and the stinging.
He smoothed my hair under the water, teasing out the lengths before grabbing a bottle. He lathered shampoo into my scalp, then carried on down, frothing me up with body scrub that smelled of tea tree and citrus. I enjoyed the moment, moving wherever he guided, as he washed me and stroked me and pressed his lips against my wet skin. His fingers felt like heaven as they soaped my breasts, tweaking and coaxing until I could feel myself rolling into him. I gasped as his hand slipped between my legs, but he was so gentle, soaping me up and washing me down, leaving no part of me unclean.
But I didn’t feel self-conscious.
I felt loved.
I wanted to do the same for him, but he was tall enough that he had to crouch for me, and I was giggling all over again. His hair was surprisingly long when it was wet, curling down around his shoulders. I loved the feel of it around my fingers.
I loved the feel of his wet skin against mine.
He was hard again as I soaped him, and I wondered if he’d take me again, but he didn’t. He pressed me against the tiles and planted his mouth on mine, and kissed me, and I kissed him. And I wanted to pinch myself, over and over again, just to make sure this was really happening.
Finally, when we were a sud-free zone, he kissed the top of my head and turned off the faucet.
He reached for a towel and wrapped me up, and twisted my hair up into a second towel.
And then he sighed.
“I can’t believe I have to get ready now.”
“Get ready?”
“I’m signed up to clear up the function room at the Three Friars. We left it in quite a state.”
I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “Can’t you stay? Do you have to?”
He brushed my lip with his thumb. “I don’t want to let the others down.”
“But it’s a Saturday… it’s…”
“Shitty and ill-timed, I know.”
“Can’t you ring in sick? Tell them you’re ill?”
He laughed at that, and then sighed. “That’s really not my style, Helen; I don’t like letting people down, even though the idea is tempting.” He hugged me to him, kissed my forehead. “Look, the sooner I get there, the sooner I’ll get back.”
I accepted defeat, party over. “Ok, I’ll get dressed.”
But he pulled me back as I went to leave, and his eyes were dark and serious and made my tummy flutter.
“Don’t,” he said. “You can stay… you can wait for me…”
“Stay here?!”
“Why not? I’ll only be an hour or two. Believe me, I’ll be hurrying back.”
“You want me to stay?” I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Yes, Helen, I want you to stay.” He grabbed a towel for himself. “If you can, of course, if you have to get home, I understand.”
“My phone is probably dead, but I could Facebook Mum, tell her I’m still at Lizzie’s.”
“I’ll sign you into the laptop downstairs.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
“And I’ll hurry back.”
***
I stood in the doorway as his car pulled away, wearing nothing but an oversized white shirt and a pair of black ankle socks. I looked like an idiot, but he hadn’t looked at me that way. He’d looked at me like I was the sweetest fruit in all creation, and I’d loved him all the more.
If that was even possible.
I waved him all the way down the drive, even after the car was out of view, just in case he could still see me. And then I breathed in the fresh morning air and twirled on the spot at my good fortune and blew a kiss at the beautiful sky.
The garden was cold and fresh and alive with winter frost, surpassed only by the panorama of the countryside. This place was a haven, gorgeous and reclusive and rural. And perfect.
Perfect for a man like Mr Roberts and perfect for me, too.
I forced myself back indoors before I caught a chill, and wiggled the mouse to reawaken his laptop. I logged into Facebook and fired off messages to Mum and Lizzie, then took advantage of the alone time to explore my obsessive speculations of years gone by.
I was in his house. In his space. A whole building full of secrets, and insights, and strange little quirks and preferences that I’d have only dreamed of exploring.
I flicked through the art magazines on the sofa, and poked at the ash in the grate, and then I sought out his art studio. The door was hidden behind curtains at the rear of the living room, but it wasn’t locked. My heart thumped as I crossed the threshold, and I was excited, as though I was trespassing into his very soul.
