He pulled away from her, an ache and her last bit of strength, and she started to collapse sideways on the couch.
His arm caught her, lowering her gently into the cloud of cushions. “Wait here.”
Softness settled over her, warmth.
Kingston was gone for only seconds, and then the steel of his arms curved under her back and legs and lifted her against his chest.
She curled into his chest, resting her cheek against his shoulder.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Yeah, he did.
He took her to the giant glassed-in shower—only high-end hotels had showers as big as a walk-in closet—and washed her body, her arms and legs, every finger, every toe, her back and her neck, kneeling and lifting her thigh to clean between her legs, while she stood trembling like a fawn.
Maybe it was the wine catching up to her, maybe eating the chocolate mousse had caused a sugar crash, perhaps he’d taken her body and her soul, but she was a zombie.
His hands and a soft towel swiped the water from her skin, and then she was in the bed sliding between the silky sheets, his naked chest and legs warming her.
One sigh, and she was gone into the night.
But she was sure as heck back the next morning with the sunlight streaming through the gauzy drapes.
Waking up in bed with a man she’d known less than a week would be weird if Kingston weren’t laying on his back, eyes closed and dark eyelashes feathering his sharp cheekbones, snoring softly.
Should she get up and do her makeup or something?
Maybe just use the facilities.
She slithered out from between the sheets, flowing off the bed like water, and then padded into the bathroom.
Yeah, she’d been sleepy the night before, but she’d accurately assessed the quality of the fixtures in there. Brushed steel glowed softly, and the floor and shower enclosure were toasty golden stone. Nicole didn’t do rocks.
After the basics, she caught a look at herself in the mirror.
Raccoon eyes.
Oh, jeez. The shower hadn’t removed her mascara, just slopped it down her face. She worked with the washcloth and the hotel’s microbottle of hand lotion to get it off because the mascara was obviously hydrophobic and needed an oil-based solvent.
Yep, it came right off and moisturized her under-eye area, too.Natch.
A knock on the bathroom door.
She swathed herself in one of the giant hotel bath sheets and opened the door. “Good morning?”
Kingston was wearing gray sweatpants and a smile.
And yep, it was like he was smuggling a python through customs. The tubular outline was proof he was definitely an Abrahamic religionmember.
Or, you know, his parents were. Or whatever.She could see the ridge.
She’d already known that from the golf simulator, but yep, in case she’d needed confirmation.
He leaned on the door jamb with one arm, and muscles popped out of his arm and torso.
It would be uncouth to whip out her phone, take a picture, and post it, right?
Yeah, very unserious.
