Page 82 of Make Me Blush (Oil Barrons 3)

“That would not be sexy.”

“A mood killer,” I agreed and opened the shower door to snag a towel. The air was so fogged up, it could start raining in the bathroom. I gave her my oversized towel. Mom hadn’t believed in creature comforts, so when I moved into my house, I went out of my way to get the fluffiest towels and the softest sheets. I’d never been so glad for them before now.

I wanted to spoil this woman. A woman who could’ve been scared off by just another guy hitting on her at the bar. A woman who could’ve listened to the gossip and walked away from me. A woman who had every right to build walls around her heart but who’d let me in. I wasn’t taking that lightly.

I grabbed another towel from the closet and tied it around my waist. I took a second to add to the one she’d wrapped around herself.

“We’ll get to shower sex.” I swung the towel over her shoulders, and she scrunched it around her hair. “But I wanted to take the massage to the bed.”

Mostly, I wanted her in my bed. She’d come to my home with an overnight bag. She’d come into the bathroom. Yet, nerves twisted my stomach. She could back out, and it’d hurt more than I wanted to admit.

* * *

Emery

I was wrapped in the biggest, softest towel I’d ever touched. The second one I’d twisted into my hair. The towels matched the floor mats. A steel gray. Plush, yet masculine.

And this bathroom. The house I’d lost in the divorce had been nice. A million-dollar house in Bismarck had space and luxury. But it’d been a partially furnished house Henry had bought from another doctor. It hadn’t been mine. The furnishings hadn’t been ones I would’ve selected, and my time in the house had been spent trying to make as much of it kid friendly as possible.

I pictured the kids running through Holden’s house. Would we all fit? There was a partial second floor. Maybe another bathroom. How many bedrooms were upstairs? I gave myself a mental shake.

But it was easy to imagine. So damn easy.

The man. The property. The animals.

For the first time, I let myself think about more than dating Holden. What if I trusted him with my heart? What if it worked out? What if what I’d had with Henry paled against what I could build with Holden?

Fear didn’t spike like I’d thought it would. And it stayed away as I entered Holden’s bedroom.

Cool air chilled my wet skin, but he was a wall of heat behind me. Holden’s bedroom was like the bathroom. Done in shades of gray, it emanated masculinity, but comfort. A large bed with a few pillows and a pewter comforter was flanked by nightstands built out of gray-toned wood that matched the box of the bed. Blinds were sunk into the window frame and thick, like they needed Holden’s permission before they let a ray of light in.

“This is nice.” I went to the bed and pushed down. Like the towels, he didn’t skimp on luxury. Lying in this bed would be like sinking into heaven. “Wow.”

“Mom didn’t like… She didn’t do…” He pushed a hand through his wet strands. “She couldn’t be bothered with what went on inside the house. I did a lot with Nora, but all the belongings we had when we left home were the same ones we’d had when we were kids, unless Nora or I bought ourselves something.” He lifted a shoulder. “Or one of Mom’s boyfriends gave her something.”

His gaze stuck on the bed. He was a few feet behind me, and I closed the distance between us. People who’d grown up with him thought he’d had everything. And he had a lot. But he hadn’t had the most basic aspect of childhood—parental support. Unconditional love. He gave it, but it hadn’t been returned.

I framed his face with my hands. The man in front of me wasn’t a playboy who lived a carefree life. This was a guy who’d helped raise his sister, who’d defended people he cared about against a mother who should’ve supported him. He cared about his family. He cared about me. And he cared about my kids.

This wasn’t a commitment-phobe. This was a person who committed hard to everyone in his life but had no expectations they’d return the feeling. He’d lost his daughter and the person he thought he’d weather the storm with had gotten into her own life raft and rowed away.

“You’re an amazing person,” I murmured.

“Because I have a nice bed?”

I shot him a playful smile and yanked his towel off. It’d been hanging by a thread with that erection anyway. “I’m totally digging you for the bed.”

“I knew it.” He crowded me toward the mattress. “That’s the real reason I never had anyone over. I wanted to know they wanted me for me and not my high thread count.”

I giggled as he tipped me back and hooked his finger around my towel. I was stripped of both towels, but he flipped me onto my belly. I yelped and worried for a millisecond about my ass jiggling until his weight settled beside me.

His big, warm hands stroked along my sides, just shy of tickling. “I didn’t get to give you much of a massage in the shower.”

I hadn’t come here for a massage, but it was a nice bonus. Even nicer that he seemed unable to keep his hands off me.

I closed my eyes and forgot about my wet hair as he rubbed the tight knots in my back. I should be cold, but he kept me warm enough, and I melted into the comforter.

God, this bed was comfortable.

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