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Harper
A glance out the window reveals the sun about to set, and dinnertime will be soon. I guess I slept longer than I meant to. Stretching, I wince at the kink in my neck. This bed certainly leaves a lot to be desired, but at least it’s mine. I won’t be borrowing Jayson’s anytime soon.
Never, I correct myself. Slipping from the bed and straightening my slept-in clothes, I go in search of the bathroom. The other door from the main bedroom opens to reveal a gorgeous one with a sunken marble tub with whirlpool jets and painted in soothing colors.
Shedding my wrinkled travel clothes, I leave them in a heap near the tub. The water rushes from the crystal faucet with a small nudge, filling the whirlpool in great swirls. I pick my way into the tub, going down the marble steps until I’m waist-deep in the warm water. Settling onto the built-in bench, I turn on the jets after figuring out the control panel and then lie back, resting my head on the padded ledge and sinking into the water.
When I glance up, a fresco of cavorting, bare-bottomed cherubs on the ceiling meets my eyes. Someone’s obviously tried to give the room a romantic feel, from the tub which is clearly meant for two to the tiny votives in crystal holders scattered all around the room. Too bad any romantic vibe comes to a screeching halt with the cherubs. How can anyone feel sexy with a bunch of chubby little angels staring down at them?
Not that Jayson and I would indulge in any such thing, any day of the week. I close my eyes again, and unbidden comes an image of my husband in the tub with another woman. A scowl spreads across my face and I’m no longer relaxed. I struggle for a while to relax. It’s counterproductive. Letting out the water I stand up, wrapping myself in a luxurious plush towel the color of ripe plums.
At the mirror, I meet my own gaze briefly before looking away, disconcerted by the expression on my face. It looks jealous. Which, of course, I’m not. My relationship with Jayson isn’t anything like that. Scowling at the idea of Jayson having sex with another woman in the bathtub is simply due to the possibility Sophie might find out. She knows I’m returning to college when she goes off to university, but she doesn’t have a clue that Jayson and I are divorcing. Having another woman show up would be a terrible way for the poor girl to discover the true state of our marriage.
That’s all it is.
This time when I turn around, I avoid looking at myself. It’s just easier not to have to read the expressions on my own damn face.
A few moments later, I leave the bathroom, pulling the towel tight around me. The last door has a huge walk-in closet. Someone, presumably Irina, unpacked my clothes. A quick search reveals my underwear in one of the drawers built into the closet. Nestled snugly alongside Jayson’s.
Barf.
I’m not proud of it, but I reach out a shaking hand to lift a pair of his. The silky black material is cool against my fingers, though I can imagine how hot it might be with his skin underneath. I find myself picturing him wearing nothing but boxer briefs, his golden, suntanned skin and… and then nothing.
With a growl of annoyance, I drop the underwear, snatch up a pair of my panties, and slam the drawer shut. Whatever is wrong with me has to stop now. It’s taken far too long for me to become completely and perfectly immune to Jayson’s presence, but I did it. To risk destroying all that effort by allowing myself to think about him naked is not helping one bit.
Frustration.
That’s all it is.
I’m physically frustrated, and since we’re so close to the end of our marriage of convenience, my body is simply stirring to life. It’s a long time for a girl my age, to have no sexual con
tact with anyone. And what can I say? I’m curious. I’ve never had sex before. Within just a few months, I’ll be able to indulge in all my natural urges.
To have desire while married to Jayson would ruin everything, so I just shut off that part of me, ruthlessly quashing any sexual sparks that cropped up. The vacation and change of scenery must be the cause of this temporary insanity. The fresh ocean air. That’s all it is. The last thing I want is to feel attracted to Jayson again, when I’m so close to being free.
Slipping out of the towel, I drape it on a hook, and slide on the white panties I grabbed randomly from the drawer. They might be comfortable, but they’re not at all sexy.
And that’s fine. What do I need to be sexy for?
Sorting through my clothes, I finally choose a sleeveless, backless yellow dress. The sun is gone, but it’ll still be hot, especially if we eat outside. That was the custom the last time I visited the island.
To my horror, as I pull the dress from its hanger, the main door opens. I scramble to slip on the dress, trying to cover my nakedness before Jayson sees me. Somehow, I manage to wriggle into it, thankful the built-in bra of the dress hides my nipples.
I’m so flushed and flustered that when Jayson stops at the entryway to the closet and leans in slightly, I feel like he knows I was practically naked just a millisecond ago. Are his eyes lingering on my breasts? It’s just for a moment before his gaze rises to meet mine.
“Are you ready for dinner?” His tone is casual, but his dark eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Of course,” I nod. I grab a pair of golden sandals from the small selection on the floor, sliding them onto my feet as fast as possible. I can practically feel the heat of his gaze caressing my ass as I kneel to adjust the straps.
I turn around, quickly. There’s no hint that he was ogling me, but I do find myself ogling him. He’s stripped off his shirt and is reaching for another. Sure, khaki slacks and being bare from the waist up for a moment before he slides on a polo shirt isn’t sexual — but tell that to my nether regions, which are getting that telltale tingling feeling. Soon my white panties are going to be wet. I want to slide my hands all over his soft skin, to trace the angles of his body..
I clear my throat and yank my gaze from the rippling muscles of his tanned torso, sidling past him. “Excuse me,” I say as my body touches his. My adrenaline kicks in and I run from the closet and the master suite, anxious to put space between us.
It’s almost over, and I’m already out of control.
By the time I fly past the marble staircase on the way to the salon, I’ve regained my cool, collected self. And if I haven’t, I’ll fake it till I make it.
Sophie’s on a white velvet couch, casually clad in capris and a modest halter top. That means there will be no guests tonight, to my great relief. I’m just not up to putting on the usual married act. When Jayson and I socialize, I’m required, of course, to act like the doting wife of the powerful man.
