Holding up his phone, I take a step closer and straighten my shoulders. “What’s this about?”
“I can’t see anything.” He turns off the water, and when he opens the shower door, I can’t help but drink him in. But I shake off the hit of desire that bombards me each time I’m met with the sight of his perfectly wet body.
He reaches across me for a towel, dripping water onto the shoulder of my kimono. After wrapping the towel around his waist, he takes his phone and calmly examines the evidence. The frown deepens.
“Is it true?” I demand. “Wait, are you not mad that I snooped at your messages?”
“No. I have nothing to hide,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter.
“Obviously you hid this from me!” I mirror his position so we’re face to face, one hip propped against the vanity.
“If you’re trying to pick a fight, it’s not going to work.” He sets his phone to the side and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I was trying to do it anonymously. There’s a difference.”
“But you can’t—” I scan his face. “How?”
“My inheritance.” He lifts one shoulder.
“What do you mean your inheritance? I thought you gave it up.”
He adjusts the towel around his waist, the muscles of his chest and abs rippling as he does. “I did. But my parents had a talk, and my dad reconsidered.”
“When did this…” I trail off and run through the events of the last twenty-four hours.
“When you were in the shower this morning.”
I grasp his hand and hold it to my chest. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
“No.” He pushes off the counter, towering over me, a flash of determination crossing his face. “You won’t.”
“But that’s a lot of money.”
“A drop in the bucket.” He takes half a step closer and cups my jaw.
For the millionth time today, tears obscure my vision. He opens his arms, and I dive into his chest without hesitation and drag my nose across his chest, breathing in his scent.
“Did you just sniff my armpit?” he laughs.
I don’t pull away. “I’m making a memory.”
It’s said that a person’s sense of smell has the power to trigger emotion and memories. I never want to forget how I feel right now.
It’s not enough that I’m pressed against his bare skin; I want to bein his skin.
“Tell me, what do I smell like?” He sighs. “Please saylike peppermint and pipe tobacco.”
“You did not just referenceThe Parent Trapwhile I’m having a moment,” I giggle.
“I did,” he laughs back. “Why were you sniffing my armpit?”
“I told you. I’m making a memory.” While I didn’t mean to sniff his armpit specifically, I inhale again, though this time much more dramatically. He smells of the hotel’s body wash: orange and bergamot.
“I can’t believe you’re smelling my armpit. You’re so?—”
“I love you.”
He goes rigid for an instant, then angles back, fixing his wide-eyed expression on me. There’s a fierce sort of sparkle glinting in his irises. “What?”
Draping my arms over his shoulders and threading my fingers at his nape, I pull him close, until his lips hover over mine.
