The most obnoxiously wonderful thing about the bathroom was the skylight on the ceiling and the nearly floor-to-ceiling window that the tub sat in front of.Ihadn’t bothered with using the tub yet, so the window was uncovered.Butit was nearing dinner time and the beach goers that had been hanging out on my sand had disappeared.
I turned the water on and grabbed a chair from one of the bedrooms to serve as my tub-side table.Withthe pizza still in my mouth,Iset my eReader and vibrator on the chair, quickly undressed, then sank into the deep tub before anyone walked by the giant window.
Bubbles bloomed in the water, quickly covering my legs.Thetall walls of the tub hid the rest of my body from any prying eyes that might look up at the house.Ipulled up a moody playlist on my phone and turned it up soIcould hear it over the rush of the faucet.
The house was blazing hot, soIkept the water tepid.Itsoothed my sunburn and eased the ache in my muscles.
It felt like my own private oasis.Ileaned back, resting my neck on the curved lip of the tub.IfIhad one of those boards that stretched across the sides and could hold a computer,I’dnever leave.Everybook would be written right here.
Or the widow’s watch.
Or the beach.
Maybe my aunt had been onto something with this old house.Therest of our family lived out west.Ihad never understood why my aunt packed up and moved across the country by herself.
But nowIdid.
She was chasing bliss.Seekingthat spark that everyone needed in life.Itwas the magic that she sprinkled between the pages of her novels.
I finished my pizza, but instead of going forWillow’sbook,Iclosed my eyes and daydreamed about the storyIhad been working on.
I was, whatIwould usually consider to be, halfway through the first draft.Butinstead of sticking to an outline and chasing a deadline,Iwas just following the characters around.Itwasn’t my usual process, soIwas completely convinced that the story was crap.Butthe characters stayed loud in my mind.
I mused on a sceneIhad playing in my head where he finally stops holding out and they’re intimate for the first time.Thosestrong hands separating her legs while she lies there, spread out for him.Thequickening of her breath.Thedarkening of his eyes as his pupils dilate with arousal.Theway her skin would dimple as his fingertips flexed, pressing into her thighs.
I sank farther into the slowly deepening water and let my hand slip between my legs.
As the scene played out in my mind, the leading man turned to face my mind’s eye.
Jack.
Why the hell wasIpicturingJack?
Jack was the cute,Southern, small-town firefighter.Hewasn’t my morally gray billionaire with aScottishaccent.Hedid things like check the air pressure in my tires.Hedidn’t kill people for looking at me.
ButJackdid seem like the kind of man who would count my eyelashes as he lay awake just to make sureIwas sleeping.Thatwas definitely book-boyfriend material.
Dammit,Aurora.Stopthinking aboutJack.
My head got the message, but it was lost in translation to my heart.Mylady temple didn’t get the memo at all.
All it took was one inkling floating through my mind aboutJack, andIwas wired.
I slid the pad of my fingertip around my clit, teasing it gently asIarched my back and let a whispered sigh slip. “Jack.”Theadmission of his name was delightfully taboo.
“You really need to start locking your doors.”
I jumped, sending a tidal wave of water and bubbles splashing out of the tub.
Jack had his hands braced on the doorframe.
“What are you doing here?”Isaid through labored breaths as my heart ricocheted in my chest.
“Well,Iwas coming over to see if you needed a hand . . .”Hiseyes flicked to where my arm disappeared beneath the water. “ButIsee you’re taking care of things just fine.”
I didn’t dare to move.
ButJackdid.Heslowly sauntered into the bathroom and knelt next to the tub.Hiseyes flicked to the window for a split second, then back to me.
