Page 123 of Meet Me In The Dark
We pass open doors—bedrooms, a gym, some bathrooms, and an office—until he stops at his bedroom.
Crossing the threshold feels intimate, which is ridiculous considering how many hours I’ve spent tangled up with him.
It smells like him: fresh sheets, expensive cologne, and sea breeze. The view through massive windows, all ocean and horizon, eases something tight in my chest.
I pause at the door. “Okay, I like you again. Being rich has its perks.”
Smiling, he pulls me through the huge bedroom and into the bathroom.
I swear, I actually gasp.
Not only is the shower the size of my entire livingroom, but the bathtub isn’t just a tub. It’s an indoor lake with jets.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He doesn’t answer because he’s busy opening a cabinet, pulling out a thick robe, and a plush towel like he’s hosting a wellness retreat and not dealing with a woman who thought she was going to bleed to death a few days ago.
“Is that lavender bubble bath?” I ask as he takes it from the vanity.
“My housekeeper stocks the place. I don’t question it.” He pours a generous amount into the tub, filling the room with fragrant bubbles and the calming scent of lavender.
Suddenly feeling weak, I sink onto the closed toilet lid, caught between laughter and tears.
Julian turns with a towel draped over his arm and looks at me, but it’s not in the way most men do. Not like they’re assessing what version of me they’re going to get tonight.
He tilts my chin up with two fingers, brushing his thumb lightly against the curve of my jaw. “Take as long as you need.”
Then, because he’s unfair, he bends, presses a kiss to my forehead, and walks out without another word.
I stare at the door long after he’s gone, heart thudding against my ribs like it’s not sure what to do now.
I’ve had hookups. I’ve had exes. I’ve had men who promised to stick around when things got real and who vanished the second my life got messy.
Yesterday this man admitted he’d been on forum searches, and today he brought me to a spa retreat disguised as his house just because I don’t have a tub.
This man poured lavender bubble bath.
I press a hand to my chest and whisper, “Oh, no.”
This isn’t good.
This is really, really bad.
If I’m not careful, I might go and fall in love with him.
Too late, Celeste.
∞∞∞
I pad out of the bathroom in a plush white robe, my body marginally better after soaking in hot water. The heat dulled the worst of the ache, but the exhaustion lingers, pressing deep into my bones.
I stop short when I see the bed, and my heart does something dangerous.
Everything I could possibly need is laid out neatly on the freshly made bedding—brand-new pajamas with the tags attached, a box of tampons, a pack of pads, my prescription painkillers, a hot water bottle already warm and ready, and a box of my favorite chocolates.
This isn’t sex.
This isn’t casual.
