Sophie rolls her eyes. “It’s a tie, Daddy. A red one. I figured it would suit the theme quite nicely. Here.” As Sophie attempts to convince my father to wear something other than black, I slip away toward Emery.
“So?” I ask, scanning Emery’s unreadable expression. “How was it?” I glance down at the half dozen shopping bags in her hand. “That’s all?”
“There are a few garment bags upstairs,” she mutters. “I bought a dress for tomorrow.” Her weary gaze flicks up at me. “It’s silver.”
“I’m sure it’s stunning,” I say, glancing over at my sister. What did she say to her? “Are you hungry?” Emery shakes her head, deflated. “Thirsty?” Another shake. I sigh. “What’s wrong, darling?”
“Nothing,” she breathes out. “Just a little tired.” She glances down the hall. “I think I’m going to take a bath and turn in early tonight.”
I frown. “Won’t you join us for dinner?”
Emery winces. “My social battery is drained.” She musters up a weak smile. “I should probably reset for tomorrow. Sophie said the guest list is rather extensive.”
I take a step closer to her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her exhaustion is evident. But whether it’s physical or emotional, I can’t tell. The latter concerns me. It makes me weak.
“Let’s go then,” I say softly, my fingers grazing her cheek. “I’ll draw you a bath.”
Her eyes flicker with contemplative hesitation. “I can draw my own bath, Quin.”
“I know you can,” I whisper, offering her my arm. “But do you want to?”
She swallows, the muscles in her hand contracting as she battles whatever thoughts are keeping her hostage. After a beat, she tacitly slips her arm through mine. The entire villa smells like roses as we float through the halls into her suite.
“Wait here,” I say, unbuttoning my cuffs and rolling up my sleeves. “There are robes in the wardrobe. I’ll call you in when it’s ready.”
Emery nods, and I disappear into the en suite. My mind races as I scramble to create a safe haven for her, a place where, even if it’s for a moment, her demons are silenced, suffocated by a glimpse of the solace I can offer.
When the last candle is lit, I open the door and beckon her inside. “It’s ready, darling.”
Flicking flames dance across the marble surfaces of the bathroom as Emery steps into the en suite. She looks around the room, taking in the dozens of candles strategically placed on every available surface. Lavender and brown sugar mingles in the air, so fucking sweet. Just like her.
Emery swallows, her breathing shallow as she stands before me. “This is?—”
“This is nothing,” I whisper, gliding my finger along the collar of her plum silk robe. Her skin shivers under my touch, goosebumps manifesting on her arms, on her chest. Her taut nipples harden, creating tempting peaks that leave my throat dry, so bloody thirsty.
“Quin…” My name is laced with arousal, with guilt, with a moral dilemma I’d love nothing more than to fuck right out of her. Forever.
"May I?" I ask, dragging my hand down her robe to the tiny little knot that has the potential to unravel me completely.Emery’s chest rises, lips parted, eyes glossy with pain as she nods slowly.
My fingers tingle with anticipation as I reach for the fabric, my touch gentle and deliberate as I undo her robe. She shimmies her shoulders, the silk sliding onto the floor, bunching at her feet, revealing her supple skin.
She stands before me, so bare yet so fucking guarded. Her curves mesmerize me, and I want to spend decades exploring every ridge, every crevice, every goddamn dip. I take her hand and guide her to the edge of the clawfoot tub. Her fingers graze my chest as she steadies herself, a small tremor of excitement passing between us.
With a tender touch, I run my fingers down her arm, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Her pulse beats rapidly under my fingertips, and I know that beneath the layers of her stoic exterior, there’s a woman inside her who’s screaming to be known.
I reach for the faucet and adjust the water to the perfect temperature, letting the bathtub fill as I simply stare at her.
Her gaze remains fixed on mine, her green eyes resisting the urge to reveal the truth to me. We’re not just friends. She knows this. As the water rises, I reach for a bottle of bath foam infused with essential oils and pour a few drops into the tub.
"Step in," I murmur, my voice a husky whisper. She’s hesitant, her breath catching as she sinks into the warm water. “Good girl, darling. Now relax.”
I kneel beside the tub, my fingers trailing along the surface of the water, stirring the oil, creating ripples that dance across her skin.
She lets out a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she leans back against the edge of the tub. I reach for a soft sponge, soaking it in the fragrant water before gently resting it on her shoulder. She gasps.
“May I?” My question is so quiet that her sharp breaths are all I hear. She swallows, chest rising and falling as she nods slowly. I smile, tracing delicate patterns across her skin. “Don’t worry, little Emery. I will be so very gentle.”
I move the sponge in slow, deliberate circles, gliding over her neck, her chest, her round, beautiful breasts. She squirms under the tender pressure as I trail lower and lower and lower.
