Page 6 of Bitter Confessions

“But I’m already wet so…”

He paused in the act of tugging his shirt from his pants and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and stared at the screen for a moment before looking at her.

“Are you okay if I take this?”

She bristled. “I’m not an invalid. I can take care of myself. In fact?—”

He leaned down and gently tugged on her hair. “No fighting,” he reminded her before giving her a hard peck on the lips. “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t bother!” she sputtered at his retreating back. “I’ve been giving myself baths all my life without your help. I don’t need you!”

He put his phone to his ear as he exited the bathroom. “Roth.”

“Roth.” She mimicked his clipped tone as she slid down the side of the tub, submerging herself to her chin in the steaming water.

What the hell was he doing canceling his meetings? He was supposed to be tying up loose ends so they could return to New York. Instead, he was extending their trip to talk. Since when had Roth ever wanted to discuss anything? Never. And why was he coddling her as if he cared? Nothing about last night should have blipped on his radar. Her tears were nothing new. Neither were the accusations she’d hurled at him, the “violence” she’d doled out, or what had taken place in the shower. Yet here he was, bringing her breakfast and attempting to be solicitous... aside from trying to finger her. Bastard.

Jasmine toed the taps off before slipping below the surface. Roth’s tub was large enough that she didn’t feel claustrophobic, though the black walls were a little eerie. She let the warm water soothe her raw, swollen face and tried to relax. That was an impossible feat, with Roth threatening to return at any moment and reopen Pandora’s box.

She wanted to scrub his admissions from her mind and move on as if nothing had happened. Because nothing had. She didn’t trust what came out of his mouth—about the genesis of their relationship, her family, or Roth’s depiction of himself. He’d fooled her one too many times, and discussing anything further would only inflict more damage. She was battle-fatigued, her mental shields tattered and her energy at an all-time low. She needed sleep, a dark room, and her weighted blanket. Their first month together had been filled with enough trauma to last her the rest of their arrangement.

When her lungs begged for air, she surfaced and scanned the bathroom, but she was alone. Her eyes settled on the tray of food going cold. She snatched a piece of toast. A minute later, she leaned over to fork up mushrooms. Eventually, she set the tray on the lip of the tub. Her eyes were trained on the doorway into the bedroom, but Roth didn’t reappear. Hopefully, there was a work emergency he had to tend to.

Even though she hoped she was right, Jasmine left the tub long before the water cooled. On the off chance that Roth was still around, she wanted to face him fully clothed.

She slipped into a robe, which was damp and smelled like him. She ignored that and the fact it dragged on the ground as she went into the bedroom, hoping her luggage had been delivered. No such luck. She had three options. She could face him naked, stay in this wet robe, or borrow something of his. She entered the closet, hoping Roth had a sweater or a thick long-sleeve that could pass as a dress on her.

When the light clicked on, Jasmine stilled at the sight of the colorful feminine wardrobe across from the muted color palette of Roth’s business attire. Two weeks ago, this side of the closet had been empty, and now it was filled to the brim with accessories and handbags. There were three dozen pairs of shoes in individual cubbies with fancy lighting. She reached out to inspect the tag on one of the dresses—not because she cared about the designer or the price, but to check the size. Her brows came together in a frown. Roth must have gone through her clothes at some point and relayed her size to a personal shopper.

Jasmine ran her hand along the fine fabrics of the elegant, shimmery gowns and admired the lush winter coats. Never in a million years had she imagined Roth, the man who’d attended her father’s party in work boots and jeans, would one day supply an extravagant wardrobe for her. Image used to mean little to him, but this was a different Roth—one who had to ensure his prop was ready to be put on display at a moment’s notice.

She opened a drawer and ignored the assortment of sexy underwear and nightgowns she’d never wear. She was looking for something drab and comfortable. In the last drawer, at the bottom of a stack of clothes, she found Burberry jogging pants and a matching hoodie. They weren’t drab, but they looked comfortable. At least Roth’s personal shopper had taken mercy on her and bought her one outfit to lounge in.

Jasmine examined herself in the full-length mirror. The bottoms fit a little too well. She would have preferred a bigger size, but the oversize hoodie made up for the snug pants. She pulled on a pair of patterned socks before going into the bathroom to brush her hair.

Her eyes were swollen, with dark circles beneath them. That was no surprise after days of little sleep and her brawl with Roth last night. The soak and the painkillers had eased her aches, but she was still sluggish. She needed something significantly more potent than the tea that accompanied her breakfast.

She walked back into the bedroom and spotted a lone chair facing the bed. A chill of foreboding trickled down her spine. He’d been waiting for her to wake up. Her stomach curdled with anxiety, threatening to expel the food she’d just consumed. Roth had shoved her to breaking point, and when she shattered, he’d comforted her. He was sick. She wasn’t sure how much more of his manipulation she could stomach.

This man bore no resemblance to the one who’d treated her with such care when they first met. That man was a figment of her imagination, a character Roth had created to con her. Now, there were no pretenses between them; no guises to hide behind and no need to play the nice guy with their deal in place. The reality of the man Jasmine was dealing with, whom she’d entrusted with her life, made her feel as if she were in free fall.

When she left the bedroom, she found the hallway deserted. The penthouse was so quiet that her cushioned footfalls seemed strangely loud. The great room looked as tidy as it always did, cushions lined up in perfect rows as if no one really lived here, and on second thought, no one really did.

A splash of color in the entrance hall caught her eye. Jasmine rushed toward their suitcases (one was his, six were hers) and considered rummaging for one of the sweaters she got in Denmark, but she had no idea which bag it was in. Instead, she retrieved her phone from her purse and peered down the hallway. The door to Roth’s office was open, but she couldn’t hear the rumble of his voice or the tap of computer keys. Hopefully, he’d taken off. On that cheerful thought, she tiptoed down another hallway, grateful she didn’t have to pass his office to access the kitchen.

Brilliant sunlight bounced off glossy countertops and cabinets. The sky was an unreal, perfect blue, with no trace of last night’s storm, which had raged just as furiously as they had. The countertops held no appliances, so Jasmine had to search the cabinets for a coffee maker or an espresso machine. She jumped when her phone rang and hastily snatched it out of her pocket, answering without looking to see who it was.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Minnie?”

She straightened. “Ariana?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No, I...” She hoped the thick walls and the distance were keeping him from hearing the call if he were still in the penthouse. “Roth’s working. I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Oh! Should I let you go?”

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