Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [49]
She’d mentioned the cold room a couple of times, but he hadn’t had a chance to go up and check out the individual heating unit. He’d been too selfish, too self-absorbed to think about her comfort.
What a bastard.
“Look, there’s another bedroom down here in the private apartment. If you’re not uncomfortable having a little less privacy, you’re welcome to use it. I think it would be more comfortable than being up on the third floor.”
Her eyes widened and she slowly nodded. “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”
Wonderful? No. It would be sheer torture having her so close—close enough he’d probably be able to hear her breathing at night as she slept on the other side of a thin wall in the apartment. But he’d get over it.
“In the meantime, use my bathroom. My uncle had the private rooms renovated a couple of years ago and there’s a double-sided gas fireplace, one side right at the foot of the tub.” Even as he made the offer, he wondered how he was going to handle waiting around for the next hour, visualizing her standing in his bedroom, stepping out of her clothes. Walking naked to the bath and bending over to turn on the spigot. Reaching down to test the water. Settling in to the hot tub until only a layer of bubbles coated her wet body.
Only the smile on her face made him stop his instant impulse to take back his offer.
“That would be perfect,” she said with a heartfelt sigh. Leaning down, she pressed her mouth to his temple, kissing him right beside the thin scar, his constant reminder, his penance. “Thank you. For everything. Whether you want to believe it or not, you saved my life.”
Unable to resist, he caught the mass of rich, mahogany hair in his hand, twining his fingers in it and tugging her closer. He needed to feel her mouth, to breathe her in, if only to drive away the remaining coldness her close call had caused deep inside him.
She didn’t hesitate, meeting his mouth with hers, parting her lips in a sweet sigh of surrender. Neither of them deepened the kiss or made it anything other than what it was…a gentle thank-you, a soft you’re-welcome. An acknowledgment that something was happening between them.
And, on Simon’s part, an admission that perhaps something more was going to happen.
Then she left the room, going upstairs to get her things. Simon walked out the other door of the office, which led to his bedroom. His bed was unmade, the covers tangled and strewn around—evidence of his restless nights, he supposed. He had a moment’s impulse to straighten up, the intimacy of an unmade bed almost seeming unbearable in light of his feelings for the woman about to walk into his room.
But there wasn’t time. If she walked in here and saw him making the bed, what else could she think except that he wanted her to help him unmake it?
Instead, he went into the bathroom, used the remote to fire up the gas fireplace, then turned on the hot water, letting it flow into the tub. Using a dimmer switch on the wall, he brought the lights down, wanting Lottie to have exactly the warm, relaxing bath she so needed after her harrowing experience.
Which meant he needed to get out of here. Because it wouldn’t be relaxing if he was still here, hovering, picturing her clothes hitting the floor as she stepped into the tub.
But he hadn’t even turned around when he realized he was no longer alone. He hadn’t realized Lottie had come into the room behind him until he saw her hand reach around to dump a milky liquid into the water gushing from the tap. Frothy bubbles immediately appeared, and a strong scent of vanilla wafted up.
“You travel prepared,” he murmured, not turning around, having to push the words out of his tight throat.
“I’ve just been waiting for the chance to get my hands on your…bathtub.”
Lottie’s voice was low, throaty, and Simon had to close his eyes and