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“Nope. Tonight is about you, and I’ve got plans. Follow me.”
r /> With my hand in his, Rhett leads me to the en-suite bathroom. After my mom left, and I hit puberty, Dad switched rooms with me so I could have my own attached bathroom. And on a night like tonight, I’m so grateful. I try not to be self-conscious about the state of my house, but it’s difficult when I’m here with Rhett. He probably has one of those big fancy tubs with a walk-in shower, and all I’ve got is a stained vinyl tub, accented by eighties floral wall paper.
But he doesn’t seem to mind. He leans into the tub, twists the stopper, and turns the knob. He keeps his hand under the water as he adjusts the temperature, and when he gets it just right, he turns to me.
“Where’s your girly shit?”
“What makes you think I have girly shit?”
“Every girl has some sort of girly shit.”
“Under the sink.”
He leans down and starts pulling things out, setting them on the counter one by one. Lavender oil. Bubble bath. Three peony-scented candles. Taking the bottle of bubble bath, he dumps a solid stream into the water and adds a few drops of lavender. I almost ask how he got so good at drawing bubble baths, but then I remember it probably involves another woman and I’d rather not know.
“Lighter?”
I disappear from the bathroom, coming back a few seconds later with the lighter. By the time he lights the candles and places them around the room, the tub is almost full.
He turns off the water. “Your bubble bath awaits,” he says, motioning toward the bathtub. It’s overflowing with bubbles, and when he flicks off the bathroom light, we’re surrounded by the smell of lavender and the faint glow of the candles.
“But I already took a shower,” I say, flicking the ends of my still-wet hair.
“Fine, suit yourself.” Rhett tugs off his shirt, followed by his jeans, boxers, and socks. “I’ll get in.”
“Not without me you won’t.” I scurry across the tiny space.
Rhett climbs in first. He stretches his legs out as far as they’ll go, but they’re still bent, and he can’t be at all comfortable.
“Come here.” He holds out a hand, helping me into the tub.
Bubbles encase my body as I slip into the warm, sudsy water. Gripping my waist, Rhett situates me between his legs. Pooling water in his hands, he lets it fall over my shoulders and down my back, and then those amazing hands follow the same path.
His fingers work their way over my muscles at a slow, methodic pace.
“Oh, God,” I moan, dropping my chin to my chest. “That feels so good.”
Sliding the palms of his hands up my spine, he curls his fingers over my shoulders, kneading them over and over, working out all the knots before moving his way down my back.
“I feel like I should be massaging your shoulder, not the other way around.”
“My shoulder is good, Mo, getting better every day. Let me take care of you right now.”
How can I say no to that?
“We need to talk about Animal Haven,” he says after a moment.
“What about it?” I ask, wincing as he works his hands along my lower back.
“Does that hurt?”
“Just a little.” I wince again, and he stops.
“What happened?”
“I had to haul bags of shavings to the barn for that horse I got in today. Think maybe I pulled something.”
“Why didn’t you have me do it?”
