Page 49 of Arden and the Girl Downstairs

We’ve been showering together for weeks, and it’s always the same thing: Arden joins me, washes my hair and body thoroughly, then leads me from the shower. He wraps me in a fluffy towel and sits me on a chair he moved into my bathroom. He blow dries my hair, towels me off, then helps me get changed.

It’s become such a special bonding time, and something I secretly hope we’ll keep doing. Minus the hair drying and getting dressed part—I can handle that myself now.

“Are you sore?” His voice is quiet and laced with concern.

If I’m being honest, we probably overdid it, but I’m not about to tell him that. We were making up for weeks of sexual tension.

“A little, but nothing I can’t handle.”

His fingers massage the shampoo into my scalp, and I let out a soft moan.

“Is there anything you need?” He ignores my moan, just like he has every other time.

Secretly, I’m happy Arden has the ability to read me and know what I need. As much as another orgasm sounds good, Ireallydon’t think my body would let me enjoy it. I’m sore, and if I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that I need to listen to my body and rest when it tells me to.

“Nope, you’re doing enough.” I mean every word.

He is doing more than enough, actually. I watch as he reaches over me for my pink conditioner so he can touch up the ends of my hair. I don’t know why or how all my stuff miraculously appeared at the beach house—I’m pretty sure this is just another Arden thing.

“For the record, I really don’t like the pink,” he says while rubbing the conditioner in the ends of my hair.

“Well, I don’t like your bow ties, so we’re even,” I sass back.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“It is! Bow ties are your comfort item—they are a part of your personality. For me, it’s my hair, unicorn slippers, and quirky tees. They make me who I am, and I won’t change that. Just like you won’t stop wearing suits. Or casually start rocking jeans or tracksuit pants.” I lean back so he can rinse out my hair. “I may play and tease you about the bow ties, but that’s because it’s fun to rile you up.”

“I never really thought of it like that,” he admits. “I don’t want you to change. I like you for you, but I enjoy riling you up as well. I’m glad it goes both ways.”

“I definitely don’t want you to stop. I just wanted to explain what my style means to me, so you don’t get upset when I don’t start conforming to fit into your world. That’s not how I roll.” I turn in his arms and look up into his deep blue eyes. “I will, however, take your earlier request under advisement, but be warned, if I’m going to occasionally wear a dress, you can bet your ass that I will find a style that suits me.”

“I can live with that, but you may hate me for what we have planned for tomorrow.” He ducks his head and breaks the eye contact, making me suspicious.

“What did you do?”

“Ummmm...”

I gently push him up against the shower wall. He lets me hold him there, even though my five foot nothing is no match for his six foot three.

“I’ve booked you girls in for a fitting at Giselle’s,” he confesses. “Then we are all going to dinner at Lumière’s.”

“You mean Giselle, the dressmaker that is booked out a gazillion years in advance, and Lumière’s, the most exclusive Italian restaurant in the state?”

I’m surprised. I may not be the type of girl to wear those kinds of dresses or eat at fancy restaurants, but I still know about them. Girls at school used to dream about wearing a Giselle dress. Both places are ridiculously hard to get into, and Arden pulls it off at short notice? Wow.

“Yes, that Giselle’s and Lumière’s. I thought it would be nice for you and the girls to get pampered and then for us to all enjoy a nice meal. Dad is coming, and so is Chase’s mum and the girls, along with Ralph and Martha. I didn’t even consider the fact that this isn’t really your thing. Everyone else is used to it, but we don’t do it often. You’ve seen Chase and Rhys—do you really think I could get them to wear a suit to dinner every night?”

That makes me laugh. There is absolutely no way either of them would be up for that. They are more the beer and pizza types of guys.

“Okay, I’ll go to Giselle’s with the girls, and I’ll wear the dress she picks . . . under one condition.” I’m excited, but I mask my expression to not let on to what I’m about to throw at him.

“What?”

“Wear jeans and a T-shirt to dinner.”

I don’t expect him to agree, but I want to see how far I can push it.

“Absolutely not.”

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