Page 31 of Rivals to Lovers
Her bra and panties were still on—like a swimsuit, as he said. Just not as water resistant. The fabric of her pale-pink bra had turned translucent, but she didn’t know if he could tell from his place across the hot tub. In a few seconds, that question was irrelevant because she had rocket-pushed off the side of the tub to get closer. Now, with her already pulled into his arena, he was acting composed, cool. Like this was a hotel and they were two guests meeting for the first time. His eyes closed, head drifting back, and his arms draped along the cement tiles. She sat next to him on the ledge of the tub inside the crook of his arms. After all, this was no closer than they’d been this afternoon when they’d kissed. It was, in truth, less close than she’d wanted to be from the second they’d stopped—which was directly on top of him. Her hips on his hips.
Even thinking about him made her core hot, or it might have been the water.
His arm fell from the ledge around her shoulders. His middle finger caught the edge of her bra strap and ran the length of the skin underneath it—up and down. Okay, it wasn’t just the water.
He caught her glance, trying to read her like he’d read his manuscript. The same controlled ease, the sense of confidence, of ownership. It made her mouth water.
“This okay?” he asked.
She wanted to nod. Still, a worrying thought broke through the sensation of his fingers on her skin. “What if there are cameras?”
He paused his attention for an instant, then glanced around over her shoulder and up at the building. He nestled her under his arm, then murmured in her hair, “There might be, but if we stay under the water, they can’t see anything.” He slid his hand just to the edge of the strap, then under. “Can I touch you?” His voice was husky, low, hard to hear against the sound of the jets.
Her head tried to interrupt her heart—which was telling herplease, please, please yes. Her head won out. “Is this a bad idea?”
He didn’t exactly growl, but he made a noise that almost broke her. “Probably.”
“But maybe we need to get it out of our systems.”
“I vote for that,” Wes said. His hand drifted under the current of the hot tub and rubbed her calves again. “I’ve been staring at you all weekend like something out of reach.”
She thought about the midwestern way no one ever took the last slice of cake at family gatherings, that constantdeferral of pleasure even when they were hungry for it. She’d never thought of herself as reckless, but she kept imagining the story. The possibilities.Sure, my book never got picked up, but let me tell you about that weekend. Making out with a celebrity in a hot tub. Kissing a rival under the stars.The story wasn’t that, exactly, especially since she couldn’t imagine telling it to anyone but herself. No, the story she needed was one of letting go.
His touch traced from her knee upward, and she didn’t stop him. She did, in fact, reach a hand to his stomach, feel the soft muscle there and the edge of his waistband. “This isn’t part of the game, right?”
He huffed a laugh. “I mean, how do you even draw those boundaries?”
“But we’d need to. This is just for fun. And just for tonight.”
“Agreed,” he said. His voice was ragged, wrecked. The tone made her bite her lip, and she was grateful to be curled into his shoulder in the dark so he couldn’t see her weakness.
“No angle. No games.”
“Yes,” he said. A single word, making it sound so easy. She wanted to believe him.
“Do you have condoms upstairs?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray how hard her breath felt to reach for.
He paused, then swore. “I don’t.” His hand caught hers in midstroke.
That made her laugh, come back to herself a little. “Why does that mean I have to stop touching you?”
“I should have bought some. I mean, I should always have some.”
“We don’t have to have that kind of fun,” she said. “But we should probably go inside.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wes
“Mind if I shower?” Mo asked. They’d spent hours tangled up together. Her hair was mussed in the particular way that only rolling around on a bed could muss someone’s hair.
“No, feel free,” Wes said.
She rolled off the bed, her naked body disappearing into the en suite bathroom. She could have gone down the hall to her own, but he was grateful for this moment to watch her. She peeked her head out from the doorframe. “Would you mind grabbing my pj’s from my room?”
“Sure.” He wrapped himself with a robe and padded down the hall. Her room was messy—concealer and blush containers open on the table and suitcase gaping wide. He picked up her pajamas. He didn’t mean to hold them close to his face, but he did. They smelled like her, undiluted by the chlorine water scent that he’d been breathing in the past few hours.
When he got back into his room, she was finished showering and the clock on the nightstand said eleven thirty. Theyhad been as quiet as they could, quiet to match the quiet house they had entered after their hot tub time. They dripped water on the hardwood floor while he mentally made apologies to historical preservationists everywhere. They wore soaking clothes upstairs, treading softly on the rugs and ignoring the stair squeaks. The door to Estelle’s room had been firmly closed, with no light shining underneath.
