Page 26 of Second Act
Turning on the faucets full force, she inspected the toiletries in their elongated bottles lined up on the tub’s ledge. She picked the bath salts marked “relaxation” and tipped them into the steaming water, releasing a cloud of geranium-and-bergamot fragrance. Stripping out of her smelly scrubs, she eased down into the embrace of the swirling water with a happy “ahh.”
When was the last time she’d taken a long soak in a tub instead of a quick, practical shower? It had to have been several years.
She lathered up her hair with a rosemary-and-mint-scented shampoo, which reminded her of the times Hugh would join her in the bathtub at their apartment, sliding down behind her in the soapy water, his long, muscular legs framing hers on either side. He’d start out with his clever fingers working suds into her hair, but she’d feel his erection against her backside and things would progress from there, leaving the bathroom floor puddled and Jessica nearly boneless with pleasure.
As though she’d conjured him up with the power of her thoughts, a knock sounded on the door. “Are you still breathing?” Hugh’s perfectly modulated voice carried through the heavy wood. “I have a glass of champagne for you.”
She jumped, creating a small wave that sloshed against the bathtub’s sides. “You can’t come in. I’m in the tub.”
His velvet chuckle seemed to ripple through the water and over her skin. “How about if I swear not to look? I’ll just hand you the glass and exit.”
It seemed stupid to be modest with her ex-fiancé, but she found herself feeling shy. She’d put on a few pounds over the last eight years, and Hugh rolled around half-naked with gorgeous, rail-thin actresses in front of the camera—and undoubtedly in private, too.
On the other hand, sipping champagne in the giant bathtub while she watched the river traffic sail by seemed like a decadent experience not to be missed. “Just a minute.” She snatched a towel from the pile by the tub, wetting it so she could wrap it around her underwater. “All right.”
The door opened so fast he must have had his hand on the knob. He walked in with his head turned away in an exaggerated posture of averting his eyes while he carried the slender champagne flute to her.
Despite the soggy towel, she felt exposed in ways that made her body prickle with a heavy sensuality. She reached up and snagged the glass, her fingers brushing Hugh’s so that a tingle shot up her arm. “Thanks. You can go now.”
He laughed but strode back through the door. She took a sip of the light, fizzing champagne and wished he’d brought the whole bottle.
The door opened a crack. “Let me know when you need a refill. There’s a call button by the tub.” The latch clicked into place again.
She tossed back the champagne in an attempt to douse her unwanted reaction to his presence but only succeeded in making herself light-headed as the alcohol hit her hungry, sleep-deprived system hard.She finished her bath in a haze of fuzzy-headed longing, her nipples tightening just from running the soapy washcloth over them.
“Damn you, Hugh,” she huffed as she climbed out of what should have been a soothing spa experience. Winding a thick towel around her like a sarong, she opened the mirrored cabinet over one of the double sinks to discover an array of toiletries that made her sigh. She wove her hair into a neat braid before she lavished a lily-of-the-valley cream all over her body and rubbed chai-spice foot balm into her tired arches.
Turning, she eyed the pile of dirty, crumpled scrubs on the floor with revulsion. Putting those on over the expensive cosmetics she’d just used seemed blasphemous. She opened a random cupboard door and found several silk robes. The smallest one covered her from shoulder to midcalf, its softness making her practically purr as she drew it on over her now-glowing skin.
She would ask the hotel to wash her grubby clothes before she had to don them again.
As she started toward the bathroom door, it struck her that the counter was bare of anything except the hotel-supplied toiletries. She flicked open a couple of cabinets. Nothing except some discreetly packaged condoms, also provided by the hotel, which made her chuckle.
Where was Hugh’s stuff?
Tightening the bow of her belt, she went through the bathroom door and padded into the bedroom, reveling in the luxurious feel of the carpeting against her clean, bare feet.
She stopped when she saw Hugh standing in front of the windows, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders hunched with what looked like tension. But her attention wandered over the length of his legs and the curve of his butt. He had a great butt.
She must have made a sound, because he pivoted toward her. His expression went from somber to intense as his gaze raked over her. “You look...clean.” He gave the last word an inflection that brought the flames of her desire roaring to life.
“I probably smell a lot better, too.” She tried to shrug away her unwelcome reaction to him.
He walked to a table that appeared to be sculpted from a single block of wood and picked up the champagne bottle. “Would you like another glass?”
“I should eat something first,” she said, still feeling muzzy headed. “Alcohol on an empty stomach is a dangerous thing.”
“Of course.” He seemed off balance, a rarity for Hugh. “Downstairs.” He gestured for her to precede him.
She looked around the bedroom instead. No suitcase. No shirt draped over a chair. No phone charger coiled on the dresser. “Where are your things?”
“My things?” He looked around the room as though they’d disappeared without his noticing.
“Clothes. Toothbrush. What normal mortals travel with.”
“Ah, those things.” He gave her a guilty half smile. “They’re at Gavin’s. I usually stay there when I’m in New York.”
“Then what are we doing at this hotel?”
