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“Sorry, it doesn’t have all the bells and whistles,” he says, gesturing to the bathtub. “But it does have jets. And in the cupboard over there should have whatever toiletries you might need.”
“That’s more bells and whistles than I’ve ever seen, Kingsley.”
His only reaction is a tight smile. “Call out if you need anything.” Then, giving me one last look, he steps away, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.
I instantly strip, needing to feel my body relax in that steaming hot water.
The water envelops me as I slip into the tub, hugging around every inch of my body.
“Oh my god,” I murmur, draping my arms over the sides of the tub, not even turning the jets on.
Just sitting there, letting the water heal my body… and my mind.
Half an hour later, there’s a knock on the door.
“I forgot to leave a robe for you. I’m hanging it on the door, okay?”
“You can come in, Kingsley. I’m hidden under bubbles.”
There’s a pause but then he comes in, a thick white robe draped over his arm.
He stands by the tub for a moment, staring at me so hard, I can’t help wondering if he can actually see me through the bubbles.
“Those are more bubbles than I’ve ever seen in one bathtub,” he finally says, a barely detectable air of awe in his voice.
I laugh. “I couldn’t help it. They just seemed so fun, and then I just kept topping up the bubble mixture.”
“You look like a little cherub sitting on a cloud made of bubbles,” he says, almost to himself.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
His gaze should be unnerving, but it actually presses tightly against my skin like a caress.
“You should,” he finally responds.
He hangs up the robe and then speaks over his shoulder as he leaves. “When you’re ready, I have some food for you. Take your time.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be right there, Mr. Baxter.”
The “some food” he has ready when I finally emerge, pruney and naked under my robe, is like a full luxury hotel buffet. There are pastries, eggs, breads, cereals, porridge, and more fresh fruit than I’ve seen at some farmers market stalls.
“Um, Kingsley, when did Gordon Ramsey come here to fix all this?”
He scoffs and hands me a plate. “Gordon Ramsey has nothing on me. Don’t tell him I said that, though. I do like his steakhouse in Las Vegas.”
I stare at him, disbelieving. “You did all this yourself?”
“I made some of it. Some of the stuff I just artfully displayed on a platter, but I should get credit for that too.”
I scan the spread open-mouthed. “Well, consider me impressed. So, chef, what do you suggest I eat first?”
“That depends on how hungry you are.”
“I’m so hungry I could eatyouwhole.”
He raises his eyebrow at the entendre but doesn’t say anything.
“I’d start with the eggs. They’re still warm.”
