Page 23 of Shattered Dreams

He’s there, leaning against the set of sinks, his arms crossed over his broad chest, looking so out of place in my pink and cream bathroom I want to laugh. I don’t let it escape—it will turninto some hideous, hysterical thing. My nerves are taut, and I’m near my breaking point.

“You don’t want to bathe?” I ask, disappointed. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe all he wants is to go to bed.

“I was waiting for you, that’s all.”

“Oh. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know the etiquette.” I offer him the beer bottle.

“I haven’t either. Thanks.” He takes a swig and sets it on the edge of the tub. “Can I?”

“What?” I ask, my heart in my throat. Maybe I need the gentle way he treats me more than I think I do.

“Can I undress you?”

I sigh. “Oh, yeah. You’ve never bathed with a woman before?”

“Never had a tub big enough.”

“Really?” My lips quirk. I don’t believe him.

“You think I’ve got a hundred notches on my belt, but I’m choosy. Before we met, I didn’t fall into bed with just anyone. Remember, I was in a long-term relationship. I thought we were going to get married, and I needed time to get over her. I didn’t sleep around before you and I met, I didn’t when we were broken up, and I won’t if we don’t work out. I’m not that kind of person.” He pulls my tank top over my head and my nipples harden. “You’re so beautiful, Zarah. It’s no wonder why you’re confused about us.” Kneeling, he slides my silk bottoms down my legs. I’m wearing a demure pair of cream lace panties that match my pajamas.

“What do you mean?”

He looks up at me, his fingers tugging on the waistband of my panties. “Because you keep saying you’re not good enough for me, but it’s the other way around. I’ll never be in your league, and one day you’re going to realize that.”

“No. Gage, no. That’s not true at all.”

“I hope it’s not.” He tugs my panties over my thighs, and I step out of the puddle of silk my pajama bottoms make. He’s at the same level as my private area, and I’m uncomfortable, goosebumps covering my skin. I’ve still been trimming, and I look nice down there, but that guy had his hands down my pants and I don’t want Gage to touch me until I wash. It’s a silly thing. He already said he didn’t care, but it’s what I did every night Ash sold me. I would scrub my skin until I bled, trying to scour their stench off me. It never worked, but I have a feeling this time, it will.

“It’s my turn,” I say, nudging him to his feet, hoping he can’t tell how nervous I am. Maybe not nervous, but I have that anticipation. Will he want to make love after our bath? Do I want him to? I don’t know. It feels like there’s so much riding on tonight, and if I mess up, he’ll never want to see me again.

That’s my fault. I need to fix it, but only time can do that.

I unbutton his flannel shirt. As usual, he’s wearing a t-shirt under it, and he takes it off without me asking him to. I’m too short to do much but pull the hem from his pants.

His jeans are next, and I unbutton them and pull the zipper down. I tug the thick material down his muscular thighs, and he kicks them aside. He yanks his own socks off, and I make fast work of his boxer briefs. We’re both standing completely naked in my bathroom, but the lights are too bright for a romantic bath. I dim them and turn the faucet off.

The water is the perfect temperature, and I set my wineglass on the edge of the tub next to his beer. “Ready?”

“After you.” Holding my hand, he helps me into the tub and then steps in after me. He sinks into the water, leans his back against the slanted wall, and cuddles me to him. A washcloth lays folded on the side, and he wets it and starts to rub the cloth over my shoulder and down my arm.

His body relaxes, and I lean into him, releasing my stress.

“I could get used to this,” he says, moaning, snaking his arm across my belly, gripping me to him. His legs cradle mine, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Sometimes money has its uses.”

“You could say that.”

I prop one of my feet on the lip of the tub and Gage murmurs against my temple, “I love your toes. They’re so little and cute.”

Turning slightly to press my lips against his neck, I say, “I didn’t realize you had a foot fetish.”

“I adore every part of you.”

His words are so sweet, and I try not to cry.

In silence, we lie like this for a little while, the water gently lapping at the sides of the tub, his heartbeat steady under my ear, his solid presence erasing the last dregs of my anxiety. I twist completely and face him, and I pour a dollop of my bodywash onto the washcloth. I begin to wash him, bubbles coating his pecs and biceps. It will always amaze me how strong he is. Physically and emotionally.

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