That elation from seeing the place has already drained from her, leaving an edgy, nervous version of my wife in its stead.
I remove the large cooler backpack containing the food we’ll be eating for the next few days. “Why don’t you go in for a soak right now? I’ll get dinner started.”
She turns to me like a deer in headlights. “Like, right now, now?”
“Why not?”
“I…” Rachel’s hand goes to her throat.
“Hey.” I take one large stride to close the gap between us. “You go relax. We’ll have a nice French onion soup, just the way you like it, and we’ll talk after. Okay?”
Her jaw clenches, but she nods.
“Okay. Yeah.”
A warm flow of relief seeps through my skin.
It’s not that I think a soak in the hot tub and a nice, warm bowl of onion soup will fix everything. I’m not an idiot. But I do want her at ease. Or, at least, as much at ease as she can be.
I settle myself at the counter and start slicing the onions while Rachel changes into her swimsuit upstairs. Even with the harsh clang of the chef’s knife hitting the wooden cutting board, I can still make out the sounds of cloth hitting the floor of the mezzanine.
At this exact moment, Rachel is straight above me. Taking off her clothes. Letting the cool air caress her soft, kissable skin.
The knife bites into my thumbnail, and I groan out an expletive in a muffled voice. If my nail had been any shorter, the blade would have sliced my skin.
I need to focus.
I fully hone in on what I’m doing, trying to ignore the sounds of silky fabric sliding against Rachel’s skin as she slips on her swimsuit.
Slice. Slice. Slice. Drop onions in a bowl. Grab another onion. Slice. Slice. Slice.
The stairs creak, and gentle footsteps echo all the way to my ears. I resist the urge to turn and stare at what I know must be a breathtaking sight. I don’t need to. She’s going to pass right by me to reach the porch and slip into the scalding water. Water that will make her cheeks red, that will make her skin glisten in the moonlight.
Fucking hell.
I follow the sound of her footsteps right until I know she’s about to enter my field of vision. Instead of looking, I avert my eyes. Still, from my peripheral vision, I catch glimpses of her lean legs and have to grit my teeth.
The patio door opens. A cold draft sweeps inside, and I can only imagine the goosebumps scattering across Rachel’s creamyskin in the short time it will take her to make it to the hot tub. But I keep slicing, slicing, slicing.
Until I look at my bowl of onions and realize I’ve made way too much.
I push the bowl of onions aside and head to the fridge, where I’ve already stored our food. In between a carton of eggs and a block of cheese is a bottle of white wine; I grab it and immediately pour Rachel a glass.
By now, she’s probably in the hot tub, and if I’m lucky, she will have turned on the jets so that I don’t get tempted to bask in her beauty.
I head to the patio, hardly feeling the cold. Rachel’s eyes are closed, and to my relief, the jets are turned on. Her long chestnut hair is tied back into a messy bun. I don’t want to make her jump, so I clear my throat to get her attention.
“Huh?” Her eyes burst open, her brows furrowing when she sees what I’m holding. “Trying to soften me up with wine?”
I chuckle nervously. “I just want you to enjoy yourself as much as you can.”
She frowns. “Getting me all relaxed isn’t going to make me go easy on you, Karan.”
“I know.” I bend and extend my arm towards her. “But you deserve this.”
She sighs, then slips an arm out of the hot water to grab the wine glass. Her eyes narrow at me, but a hint of a smile ghosts her lips.
“Thank you.” She closes her eyes and takes a sip. “This is actually really nice.”
