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“How old were you?” he asks.
“Eight,” I say, desperate not to give in to waiting tears that still come so quickly.Jack pulls me to him to hug me. I always stuff the subject of my parent's death as far down as I can so that I don’t feel a thing. It’s worked O.K. for the most part. Occasionally, when the subject still comes up, it hurts like hell.
“It’s okay,” I dismiss. “But anyway, that’s where my love of rings came fro--.”
Jack covers my mouth with a kiss. He doesn’t even wait for me to finish my sentence. He simply cuts me off. Finally, he breaks the kiss and looks me in the eye, his face close to mine.
“I had to shut you up. Sometimes it’s okay just to feel,” he whispers. “Not chatter away the pain.”
“I just didn’t want to feel sad and spoil the night,” I whisper.
“It is sad – but ignoring it doesn’t make it any less sad – and it holds you hostage – keeping you from putting it behind you,” he says.
“But okay, we can change the subject. Now that we have enjoyed the pool, let’s go shower. I would love for you to stay the night. I want to take you sailing tomorrow, but I will take you home if you aren’t comfortable staying.
“In what?” I giggle. “You gave your Porsche away, and your driver has your limo.”
“One of them,” he says coolly. “As you might expect, I have more than one car. No worries about getting you home if that is what you would prefer. But either way, if your schedule allows, I would like to take you sailing tomorrow.”
Oh, my schedule permits, all right. I don’t want to make him feel bad, but my schedule is almost non-existent with so many businesses leaving Dove Point.
“I would like to sail with you, sir,” I say.
“We can anchor and swim in the ocean,” I say. “I would love to see your gorgeous bikini-clad body on the deck of my boat. I am tempted to hire a photographer.”
Heat colors my face.
“That’s a little much,” I protest.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he says and kisses me chastely on my forehead.
I follow his lead and wade to the steps of the pool. We grab oversized fluffy towels and waddle into his house, heading straight to a shower room that feels more like a spa than a house bathroom.
“The bathroom is ginormous - unlike anything I have ever seen. The space is totally encased in beautiful marble – floors (heated), walls, and even the ceiling. The freestanding tub and shower are enclosed in a “wet room” – the latest look in bathrooms for the wealthy. It is, in my opinion, a little over the top. For me, the outdoor showers at the beach do the trick.
Water sprays at me from all directions. At least ten shower heads are found above and on the surrounding walls. Jack lathers my hair with something from a bottle that smells wonderful.
“What is that?” I ask.
“This woman makes it up for me,” he answers with a chuckle. “I don’t even know.”
“Oh,” I say. “I do that. I make a shampoo out of lavender and chia seed gel.”
“Something like that,” he says, and with a magical touch, Jack massages my scalp.
“I have massive ASMR,” I say, my eyes nearly rolling back in my head.
“That good, hunh?” he asks. “You know what they refer to that as, don’t you?”
“No,” I say, half-conscious.
“A brain-gasm,” he says.
He clamps down on the base of my neck, hitting one of my most sensitive erogenous zones. I melt inside, depending on him. Jack touches me again. I know that I am wet and so, so sensitive.
He is eyeing me like he’s thinking of everything he wants to do to me. I melt even more. My body is humming with anticipation.
Finally, he shuts off the water and swaddles us in giant towels. He brings me down the hall to the lair, which is his room.
