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“It’s… it’s a modern tub. Big on the sides. Who knows how much water you put in there. It’s a deep tub and- and all it takes is an inch…” Her mom had said that once, when she was a kid. She felt utterly ridiculous standing there parroting it back.
Cason laughed, that rich, velvety, dark sound. It enveloped her and suddenly, like a punch straight to the solar plexus- even though she didn’t entirely know what that was, but it sounded accurate- it was hard to breathe.
“Come here.” He crooked his large index finger in a come-hither motion.
For a guy that had basically just wet the bed- sweat fest style- he shouldn’t be so confident or so darkly sexy. Of course, he was. He probably could have wet the bed for real and it would be sexy. And no, that wasn’t her kink.
Noemi found her feet moving before her brain had a chance to keep up. She realized, two steps in, that she was a goner. Hook line and freaking sinker, and no, she’d never actually been fishing in her life. The analogy was perfect. How with that crooked finger and shining eyes, Cason reeled her in. How, like that poor, hapless fish, she let him.
CHAPTER 11
Byron
He decided, right there in water so warm it felt like he was a lobster trying to boil himself alive, that he should write a book on dating. What to do. What not to do. So far, he’d done everything wrong.
He was pretty sure that there were no books out there that could lay it out like he had. He decided on a title. Ten Steps To Woo A Fiancé Who Doesn’t Want To Marry Your Ass.
One- rear end the woman you wanted to impress, while trying not to give her whiplash or actually damage her car in the process. Grow balls of steel and ask her out.
Two- smother a grease fire on first date, literally ten minutes later, after sitting at a booth with no actual service. Grow balls of steel and ask her over to a house that doesn’t actually exist.
Three- procure a house.
Four- fuck you dinner, then make her dinner instead.
Five- defile her in the shower, way over the line for a first date, but so far, so good, right?
Six- order the greasiest pizza known to mankind and watch her somehow act like it’s the best food on the planet.
Seven- put her to bed in your t-shirt, when she’s so dead exhausted and passed out, in a food coma that she can’t fight back.
Eight- have the nightmare to end all nightmares, soak said bed, make her clean it up.
Nine- appear dark, mysterious, and shadowy while soaking for so long in a hot bath that your fingers and toes are pruning up and hope that it is somehow a turn on.
Ten- grow balls of steel and tell her the truth.
Ten for real- bang her brains out in said tub, give her three more orgasms, take her to the bed and give her four more, wear her out into a state of jelly where she’ll forgive you for just about anything because you’re a sex god with actual balls of steel.
Yeah. Right.
Maybe he should quit the shoe business and go into writing self-help books. He was pretty sure his ten-step rule would become an instant best-seller.
Noemi stood staring at him with wide eyes. She looked so fucking hot with her hair tangled about her face and her big doe eyes. There was still a sheet crease across her left cheek, though it was faded and only visible in the bright lights of the bathroom. Too bright, but they didn’t have a dimmer switch.
“Come here,” he repeated. “I said I would only have this bath if you joined me. It’s nice and warm. I made it overly hot so it wouldn’t be cold when you finally got around to getting in here.”
She twisted her hands awkwardly in his t-shirt. Which was absurdly sexy on her too, her shapely, lithe legs peeking out below the hem which reached down to her knees, even though she was on the tall side.
“The thing is, one-night stands don’t normally last longer than a night. I’ve been here too long. I should probably just get dressed and go.”
He sat up so fast that water nearly splashed over the edges of the tub and it was a deep tub, carved like a claw foot, minus the claws. It was new, like the rest of the bathroom, obviously remodeled. The guy’s wife probably picked the damn thing out because she saw it in a designer magazine and had to have it even though it probably cost eight times more than a normal tub. Or maybe they’d just got the damn thing on sale and designed the bathroom around it since it was large enough to fit everything. What did he know? He wasn’t a damn bathtub expert.
