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When the tub was full, she switched on the Jacuzzi, whipping the water into a froth of camouflaging bubbles, then she turned off the lights. There were no windows in the bathroom and it was blessedly dark, so she wouldn’t have to watch his eyes exploring the body that only her husband had caressed. Why did he even want her? Her skin was no longer taut; her stomach hadn’t been flat for years, and she wore an estrogen patch on her hip. Discarding the towel, she lowered herself into the bubbling water.
She didn’t have long to wait before he knocked at the door. “Yes?” she inquired, polite as always, because she had been reared to be polite, because women her age had been brought up to obey the rules, defer to men, and put their own needs after everyone else’s.
The door opened, admitting a dim wedge of illumination from the bedroom. He didn’t turn on the light, but neither did he close the door, and despite her earlier words, she was grateful for the faint glow from the other room. Although she didn’t want him to be able to see her clearly, she also dreaded being alone with him in dense darkness.
She studied the silhouette of his body as he approached the tub. If only he were unattractive, this wouldn’t seem like such a betrayal. He was a powerful man, not as tall as Hoyt had been, but equally imposing in a different way. She couldn’t make out either the fabric or color of the robe he wore, but as his hands went to his waist, she knew he was untying the sash, and she dropped her gaze. How many grown men had she seen naked? She’d known Hoyt’s body nearly as well as her own, and as a child, she’d occasionally walked in on her father. When Bobby Tom stayed at the house, he sometimes roamed in his underwear, but that didn’t count. She had very little experience to draw on.
The water level rose as he lowered himself into the tub and settled his body into the opposite corner from hers. The soft whir of the Jacuzzi masked the outside noises so that the two of them could have been alone together anyplace. He propped his elbows on the rim, and his legs brushed hers as he stretched out. She stiffened as she felt his hand clasp her ankle and draw her foot on top of his thigh.
“Relax, Suzy. You can get out of the tub anytime you want.”
If his words were meant to soothe her, they had the opposite effect because she knew there was no escape. If she didn’t get this over with tonight, she would surely go crazy.
He made a slow circle in the arch of her foot with his thumb and her whole body jerked in response.
“Sensitive?” The anger that had crackled from him like static seemed to be gone. He drew a figure eight in her arch.
“My feet are ticklish.”
“Mmm.” Instead of letting her go, he began to massage her toes, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger while he continued to caress her arch with his other hand. Despite herself, she began to relax. If only it could end here, with a warm bath and comforting massage.
A surprisingly peaceful silence fell over them, and the exquisite movements of his hands on her foot, combined with the fact that he showed no inclination to attack, began to lull her. She sank more deeply into the water.
“We should have brought a bottle of champagne in here.” He sounded as lazy as she felt. “This is nice.”
As he continued his sensuous game of this-little-piggy, she knew she had to apologize for the nasty remark she had made about his mother. She had never believed that other people’s boorish behavior served as an excuse for abandoning her own moral code.
“What I said about your mother was cruel and uncalled for. I apologize.”
“You had provocation.”
“That’s never an excuse.”
“You’re a good woman, Suzy Denton,” he said softly.
A creeping languor turned her muscles to jelly. It had been so long since anyone had really touched her. All those years she’d been married, she’d taken the power of sensual caresses for granted, but she didn’t anymore.
He reached for her other foot. The ends of her hair dipped into the water as she sank lower into the tub, but she was feeling too relaxed to prop herself back up. Once again he began his slow, deep kneading. She told herself it was merely because she was tired that the sensation felt so delicious.
He drew her foot to his lips and she felt the pleasant rasp of his teeth as he nipped gently on the pad of her big toe. “I assume I don’t have to worry about getting you pregnant.”
His statement jarred her from her lethargy. She tried to sit up, but he kept his hold on her foot, returning it to the top of his thigh where he continued to minister to it.
“No, you don’t.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, either,” he said.
What was she supposed to worry about? she wondered. Certainly not getting him pregnant.
She heard the amusement in his voice. “Suzy, it’s the nineties. You’re supposed to ask your potential lovers pointed questions about their sex and drug habits.”
“Lord.”
“It’s a new world.”
“Not a very nice one.”
He chuckled. “I take it I’m not going to get any pointed questions.”
