Cole’s eyes scan the serene room. “To clarify, I don’t actually think we’ll be murdered today. Marcy’s just very good at her job and her job is to help us relax. But… if there was something nefarious going on, you would have about two minutes before your poisoned tea started making you feel extremely dizzy and then about thirty more seconds before you’d lose consciousness.”
She looks at me pointedly as I take another sip of tea, biting back a smile.
“I want to be on your team when we playClue.”
“There are no teams inClue. You figure the mystery out on your own.”
“We could be on a team.”
Cole’s sigh is long-suffering. “I suppose youcouldplay on a team. I, however, do not.” She turns so suddenly, her ponytail would have smacked me in the face if I was just a little bit closer. Snuggling onto a lounger, she tucks her slippered feet underneath her and asks, “What now?”
“Now we relax. In the relaxation room.”
Her pursed lips sayDuh!but she doesn’t move from her tightly coiled position. “Listen to the music, Colette.” I set my teacup down before sitting on the end of her lounge chair. My first attempt to coax her legs out from under her is met with a light smack to my hands. “Let me help,” I mutter, trying again. This time she allows me to tug her legs free. I place them in my lap, removing her slippers and smiling at the cherry-red polish she has on her toes.
“My favorite color,” I remind her.
She tips her head back, and I watch as the column of her neck stretches with a gulp.
With a firm grip, I massage up and down her calves all the way to the arch of her foot. I know I have a hair fetish—well, only with her hair—but I might have a foot fetish too because her painted toenails are so damncute.
We spend a few minutes that way—silent aside from the spa music as I help Cole unwind a bit. Her breathing evens out but her eyes are open, watching me, so I know she hasn’t fallen asleep.
“Why are you doing this?” she suddenly asks.
“Massaging your feet? Because I could tell you needed some?—”
“No, not this,” she interrupts, gesturing down to where my hand is wrapped around her ankle. “I meanthis,” she moves her hand up to motion between the two of us and then circles it around the entire room.
“Mmm.” I nod, resuming my ministrations. “I’m not sure you’re ready to hear the answer to that question, Colette.”
“‘Mmm’ indeed,” she replies, her gaze assessing. “I think I’m ready for the baths now.”
I slide her feet off my lap, turning to lean on the arms of the lounger, boxing her in. My nose dips slowly, waiting for her protests. When they never come, I slide my nose across her jawline, down her neck, back up until we are nose to nose. “Can I kiss you?”
Her hazel eyes flash up to mine, and what I see there is purewant. I know my expression matches hers, and when we kiss it’s a tender strike of the match. Burning, but not quite igniting. Slow, gentle.
Then rougher, harder, more moremore.
Finally, we explode.
I don’t think we’ve done this before. Kissing for kissing’s sake. Because our lips fit. Like the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that litter my coffee table.
And, God, it’s satisfying. Finding that perfect fit. The perfect piece.
Wanting, needing, feeling like you should spend the rest of your life attached at the lips, exactly like this.
My hands weave into the hair at the base of Ben’s neck. It’s silky against my skin, and would it be weird to have shirts made out of his hair? Probably yes.
I think I’d want it anyway.
Ben’s fist wraps around my ponytail, tilting my head so he has better access to my neck. I’m torn. I immediately want his lips back on mine, but why does this feel so damn good too? They’re sloppy and wet and loud, like he doesn’t care who hears us.
We’ll scandalize poor Marcy.
“We,” Ben says with a kiss. “Should probably—” Kiss. “Go to the baths.” Kiss.
The what?I can’t focus past the suck of Ben’s lips against my neck, feral, marking me.
