Page 65 of The Last Autograph

Her version of Ava entered Molly’s thoughts before she could stop it. Was she one of the loose ends Jake referred to? In a parallel universe, she would have suggested she tag along, but besides no invitation being extended, her credit card wouldn’t support her flying to Auckland, let alone Europe, at that moment. “Have you booked?”

“Not yet.”

She glanced around the room. It was past time to change the subject, and with the fire now no more than a smolder, the air held a slight chill. “Do you have a bathtub?”

“That’s a random question.” He smiled. “Didn’t you snoop around the other morning when you were here alone?”

“Of course not. I don’t have one at my place, and I miss it.”

Jake rose from the chair and offered his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Barefoot, Molly followed him up the stairs and past closed doors until they reached the end of the hallway. He opened the door and flicked the switch.

“Wow.” She stepped inside, her eyes taking everything in.

Unpolished rustic tiles in a light clay tone covered the walls, and above a freestanding claw-foot tub, three naked light bulbs hung from the ceiling on black cords.

Jake crossed the room and opened the shutters, then stood back and turned off the lights. She stepped forward and placed a hand on the windowpane. Through a narrow corridor framed by silk trees and over the rooftops of hill suburb homes, the lights of a container ship were barely visible in the waters of Carter Bay.

She turned to Jake, the view through the window captured in three iron-framed hexagonal mirrors on the wall behind him. “This is one of the most gorgeous bathrooms I’ve ever seen. Do you use it much?”

“Sometimes… especially after I’ve been out surfing. The view has a moodiness to it in the winter, when the trees are bare, but I especially like the summer feel of it—when the silk trees bloom. It was the only room they hadn’t renovated, so I was able to put my own stamp on it. The design reminds me of my bathroom in Paris. Shall I fill it for you?”

“Would that be okay?”

“If you let me watch.”

As his expression softened, Molly imagined him naked and relaxed as he reclined in the tub after an invigorating day in the water. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

“Maybe.” Smiling, Jake turned on the faucet and rummaged through the cabinet below the basin. He pulled out a bottle of bubble bath and tipped several drops under the stream of water. “I bought you something today. It’s in my room.”

“Me?” she asked before following him along the hallway to his bedroom, where he handed her a small gift bag from his nightstand. She peeked inside and pulled out a blush-colored satin robe.

“It’s for sleepover nights.” Jake pulled her closer, gathered the hem of her sweater, and tugged it off over her head. As his lips found her throat, she stilled, immediately excited by his touch.

Molly clasped her hands around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

“The color caught my eye.” Jake kissed her on her forehead and pulled away. “I better go check the water before we have a flood on our hands.”

Molly stood beside his bed, the ache between her legs so intense that if he didn’t touch her soon, she’d be forced to do it herself.

The ping of his phone echoed along the hallway, making her wonder who’d text him this time of night. Not that it was any of her business. Nothing about him was her business. They were merely two people enjoying each other’s company for however long they had together.

She undressed fully, slipped on the robe—its silky fabric like erotica against her skin—and draped her clothes over the leather armchair. When she returned to the bathroom, Jake looked up from the stool he sat on, his phone in one hand. He smiled softly. “Suits you.”

“Thanks.”

Jake set his phone on the vanity, slipped the robe from her shoulders, then stood behind her and gathered her hair in his hands. He secured it in a high ponytail with a hair tie, then kissed her nape.

Molly stepped into the tub and submerged herself in the water, the streetlights of the city unobtrusive through the window as candles flickered in the corner of the room. Jake sat on the stool beside the bath, picked up a dog-eared paperback from the floor, and placed it in the basket at his feet.

“What’s the book?”

“Just something I brought back from the UK.”

“Tell me the story? And make it interesting.”

Jake frowned. As a man of few words, he probably wasn’t much of a storyteller. In fact, he’d told her little about his past, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t interested.

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