Page 86 of Just Come Over
“And you wouldn’t take my roof. Wait here. Don’t move. Or—wait. You can move. Sorry. Bossy fella. But stay here.”
He left, and she sat up in the dark, found the top edge of the duvet, and climbed inside. She should be going into the bathroom and washing up, but she wanted to wallow in this for a few minutes more. And after that, she wanted to take him into the bath with her, to lie over him, feel him reach around to kiss her, and to let his hands stroke over her and wash her clean, the way he’d wanted to do that night on the phone.
He came back into the room bare-chested, but in his track pants, and she said, “Clothes aren’t fair.”
“I told you. It’s hotter if you’re naked and I’m not.” He rested a hand on the light switch and said, “Put a hand over your eyes.”
“I’m OK.”
“No. Seriously. Put a hand over your eyes, and close them.”
She did it, but saw the darkness decrease anyway, then heard his footsteps retreat and come back. He said, “You can open them now.”
She did, to find him standing over her, frowning, running a hand through his dark hair, and a dark-blue paper bag on the bed in front of him.
She looked at it, then at him, and said, “Uh... is this a good thing, or a bad thing?”
“Good thing. I hope.”
“Then...” She scooted over. “How about coming and sitting with me? And not looking like you’re about to breathe fire?”
“Oh.” A smile, a slow one, and he climbed onto the bed, got an arm around her, and said, “Open it.”
She did, and pulled out a square, flat velvet case in royal blue. Not a small one. She said,“Rhys,”and he said, again, “Open it.” Like he was holding his breath. Like he wasn’t sure.
She thought,Three two one go,flipped the case open, and stared at what was inside, then at Rhys, then back at the thing in the case.
He said, “Can I put it on you?” and she raised a hand, let it fall, and said, “Yes.” It came out on a breath, because she couldn’tgether breath.
The touch of the nearly luminescent, pinkish-white pearls was cool against her skin as Rhys draped the rope around her neck and fastened them. He pushed her hair aside with one hand, kissed her softly on the side of her neck, and said, “I’ve wanted to do this for so many years. You can put the clasp anyplace you like, all down the strand. It’s a lariat. And it’s exactly as beautiful on you, and exactly as sexy, as I knew it would be. I bought it, and I wanted to see you naked in it. I want to keep you in it for days, and take away all your clothes. Come into the bath and look.”
She got out of bed, still feeling like somebody had stolen all the air out of her lungs, and followed him into the bathroom, where he turned the dimmer switch on low, put both hands on her shoulders, and turned her to face the mirror above the sinks.
She ran a hand over the rope of pearls, then touched the diamond clasp. Lightly. He’d fastened it so it caught at her collarbones, leaving a single line of pearls draped to her breastbone.
“This is what I’ve always thought,” he said. He picked the necklace up off her breast with light fingers, then turned it around and laid it gently down her back, where its coolness made her shiver.
“Turn around,” he said, “and see.”
She did, and he handed her a shaving mirror.
It wasn’t what you’d wear for dinner with your parents. The pearls formed a choker over her throat and dipped down her back, lying white, shimmering, and sensual against her skin, and Rhys was stroking his hand down every single lustrous bead, then all the way down to the small of her back. He said, “You have the most gorgeous back. Like a cello. Like something from another age. I want to buy you a dress. Black velvet, dark blue, something like that, cut low here. When you turn around, every man’s breath will catch.”
“It will?”
His smile was slow, and when he bent to kiss her, just below the nape of her neck, his lips were soft. “Yeh, baby. It will. Because you’re beautiful.”
He did take a bath with her, once she took her necklace off and stowed it carefully back in its velvet box, and they watched their reflection in the black windows as Rhys stroked a facecloth over her breast and belly, down her thighs, and back up again.
She said, “I should hate that you bought me a present like that. I should say it’s too soon. Where am I going to...” She had to stop and breathe, because he had the facecloth dipping into those secret spaces. “Wear it?”
“Or you could say,” he said, dripping some bath gel onto the facecloth, getting his hand under her thigh, and beginning to wash it, “that I’ve been waiting forever to do it. And that I’ll make sure you have a place to wear it.”
She hummed, then said sleepily, “The first night I met you... you made me shiver. I didn’t know what it was. I thought you hated me. And then you never came around, and I was sure of it.” It was easier to say when she could only see his reflection.
He said, “I didn’t hate you. I wanted to take you to bed. Or on the car. Or anywhere else I could get you. It was too hard to control my thoughts, if I was with you. And you know... if this is going to come out anyway, we should practice. Friday night.”
“Friday night isn’t a... rugby date night.”
