Although it feels good to get the grime of the city washed from my body, it’s not as fun as it was when I took a bath with him.
Sipping the wine, I close my eyes and relax, imagining Warner’s hand coming around to rest on my belly. The way his breath blew across my neck, causing bumps to pebble across my skin. I take another sip and then a gulp before sliding my hand under the water and between my legs. I’m tender, but it’s deliciously sore. He did that. He marked me as his, and I find that so incredibly titillating. I’ve never been a woman who dreamed of her Prince Charming coming to save her. I can save myself. But something about that man has me ready to tie myself to the railroad tracks and scream for him.
“Hey there.” That sultry voice runs through me like an awakening.
I open my eyes to see Warner leaning against the doorframe with a grin on his face. The vest is unbuttoned and flapped open, and his tie is loosened and hanging around his neck all crooked. Even his hair is a mess of brown strands going in all directions. He’s basically his usual gorgeous self, while my hair probably looks like I lost a fight against a pigeon today. And the pigeon won and built a nest.
I sit up suddenly, and water splashes over the sides while I try to tame hair that I don’t stand a chance of doing. “Hey there. You’re home early. I didn’t expect you until . . .” I shake my head after giving up the fight with the wild strands of my hair in this knot. “Actually, I didn’t know when to expect you home.”
“I’m early.” He chuckles. “Even Baker was surprised to see me. But I didn’t have a reason to rush home before.”
If I wasn’t already a melty mess from this man for how his mouth did me justice several times last night, I’d be a puddle on the floor after hearing him say that. I start to lift, but he says, “Stay. Enjoy your bath. I’m going to change clothes and watch some baseball.”
“I didn’t know you liked baseball.”
“There’s a player I like to watch. Called back to the Major League to play at thirty-five.”
I grin. “Does it give you hope?”
“Argh.” Covering his chest like he’s been shot, he slumps. “That hurt.” Thank God he laughs afterward. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of your old-man jokes.” He disappears into the bedroom.
“Good. I have plenty more where that came from.”
“Keep ’em coming, Sass,” he calls from a short distance.
Well, guess I don’t have to finish what I started when I have an expert in-house to do the job for me. I finish washing up and then get out of the tub. After blowing out the three wicks of the giant candle, I pull on a pair of his boxer briefs and another one of his tees. I hold the green cotton up, and the blue lettering readsFuck it. Let’s go to Nantucket. I laugh. My guy is so goofy.
Carrying the ceramic candle back into the living room like Baby carrying a watermelon, I enter the living room and set it in front of him on the coffee table, and say, “I carried a candle.”
His eyes dart to the candle. “Huh?”
I lean against the arm of the couch, and reply, “You know, fromDirty Dancing? She carried a watermelon for Johnny.”
“I’ve never seen it.” His eyes go to the candle again. “There’s a candle in the bathroom. Why’d you burn this one?”
I glance back at the centerpiece, the only thing on the coffee table. “Because you never have, and it’s too pretty not to see it lit up.”
He stands and goes around the other side of the couch from me and into the kitchen. “I never did because it’s not meant to burn. It’s art.” I turn to watch him open the fridge door, blocking him from my view.
“The bowl is pretty, but it’s still a candle, Warner.”
The door is shut, and if it didn’t have soft closure, it would have slammed. With a bottle of beer in his hand, he twists the top. “It’s literally a piece of art, Delaney. I won it at an auction a few years ago before the artist passed away. Now its value has tripled, but you just lit that profit on fire.”
Sure the candle was an accident, but I get a sinking feeling that something bigger is going on here. “I’m sorry. I?—”
“That’s the first time you’ve apologized for anything you’ve done.” He tips the bottle back and chugs half of it before lowering it back down and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.What in the world is going on with him?
“That’s not true. I’ve apologized when I have needed to.”
“Are you callingmethe liar?”
“The liar? Like if you’re not it, I am? Am I catching the gist of what you’re saying?” He moves back to the couch when the announcer says Griffin Greene is stepping up to the plate. Standing with his eyes glued to the TV, he appears mesmerized as if we weren’t in the middle of something here. “Warner?”
I’m ignored.
“Did you hear me?” I ask. I look at the TV, watching the baseball player step up to the plate. Grabbing the remote, I click it just as the sound of the bat cracking is heard.
He shoots me a glare. “What the fuck are you doing?”
