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“Better.”
“Now we have to put your leg into very, very hot water.”
“Sure, why not. It’s been fun so far.”
He presses his hands to my thighs, leaving a burning imprint as he pushes off me to stand up. “You really are a good sport about all this, Khloe.”
“Yeah, that’s me, good sport Khloe.”
“I actually admire that.”
I meet his eyes, and it’s rather silly how that simple compliment managed to jump-start my pulse, speeding it up enough to make me breathless.
He holds his hand out to me, and I let him lift me to my feet. I’m about to put pressure on my leg, but once again find myself in his arms. Good thing, considering the muscles in my legs have dissolved. He carries me to his master bathroom, which is twice as big as the bath in his spare room, and sets me on the marble countertop. I take in the room as he fills a claw-foot tub. Steam rises, dampens the sliding glass shower doors and the mirror behind me. I don’t dare turn to look at my tear-streaked face and beach hair. I had enough of a fright with the jellyfish.
“All set?” he asks.
I nod, and he lifts me from the counter and sets me on the side of the tub. I wince as I plunge my leg into the water, bracing the other on the edge of the tub. My flesh instantly turns red from the heat. “When you said hot water, what you really meant to say is water so hot you can boil an egg.”
He sits on the tub beside me, his feet on the floor. “You okay?”
“I will be.” I let out a sigh. “Thanks to you.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “Was there a compliment in there somewhere?”
“Probably not.”
He laughs, and it comes out rough. His body rumbles, and I become acutely aware of his close proximity and what it’s doing to me.
“Can you get me a towel, please?”
He grabs a towel from the cabinet and hands it to me. I drape it over my shoulders.
“Are you cold?”
“No.” I’m pretty sure I’m going to spontaneously combust. “I just... I’m in my bathing suit.”
“I’ve noticed.”
My gaze cuts to his. My ex spouted some pretty harsh comments the last time I wore a suit around him. The thing is, I have no problem with my curves. I rather like them, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to starve myself to fit society’s expectations. But I get that men prefer waif-thin models, and Will here is no exception.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone to see me in it.” I shrug into myself, but my breasts only spill out more. “It’s last year’s, and I didn’t have a chance to go shopping.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I never said that.”
“But you did say something about it earlier. I wasn’t sure what you meant.”
His hand moves, brushes against mine as I grip the edge of the tub. “I wouldn’t have worn it if I thought you were going to see me in it. It’s just that it’s a bit small.”
“Yeah.” A sound catches in his throat as his gaze slowly skims downward. “I noticed that, too.”
I’m about to die of mortification, until I catch the heat in his eyes. And his breathing is a little more labored. Am I reading this situation right, or has the venom gotten to my brain?
“In the rule book, two-piece bathing suits are prohibited.”
“Are you kidding me?”
