Page 61 of ClickBack

“Barely touched it.”

“I save it for special occasions.”

He looks over at me. “Why can’t you be that?”

“Be what?”

“Your special occasion.”

I look down at my legs. I bought the set because I liked the way it smelled on my skin, then spent months reaching past it for the everyday lotion. He closes the jar and puts it back. I’m still thinking about his question when an entirely different use for this evening comes to mind. I laugh before I can help it.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He rests a hand on the dresser. “Now I want to know.”

I could make something up. Instead, I open the nightstand drawer and take out the rose.

His attention follows it. “That part of Di’s gift?”

“Yes. I tried it once. Rae pulled into the driveway, and I put it away like the police were executing a warrant.”

“She coming tonight?”

“No.”

“All right, then.”

I turn it in my hand. “I wondered what it would be like with you watching.”

“Watching,” he repeats. “And not be an active participant?”

The way he says it makes me laugh again. “Could you manage?”

He leans back against the dresser. “Try me.”

For a moment, I can’t look at him. I’ve already slept with this man, but admitting I thought about this feels more revealing. With Byron, I learned to make a joke out of a suggestion if his expression changed. Eventually, I stopped getting far enough to need the joke.

“Stay over there,” I tell him. “No touching until I say.”

His smile spreads. “You planning to come get me?”

“Depends on how you behave.”

I set the rose on the bed and pull my top over my head. The air is cool against my breasts. My arms start to cross over them, an old reflex I hadn’t expected after everything we have already done. I lower them, but my fingers catch in the hem of the shirt instead of letting it go.

“Take your time, Zel,” he says.

He is looking at my face. I let the shirt fall beside the bed and sit with nothing between his attention and my skin. He has touched all of me. Still, choosing to be seen like this makes me feel shy in places I thought we had passed.

“I want to know what you’re thinking,” I tell him.

“That I could look at you all night and still not be done.”

I lift my hips and ease the shorts down, then push them off the bed with my foot. His gaze follows. The weight of my breasts, the softness at my middle, my thighs settling against the sheet. I have dressed this body for work, undressed it for bed, hurried it through showers without much thought beyond what needed washing. Tonight I take my time getting comfortable against the pillows. I want to feel what he is looking at.

I pick up the rose and press the button. It starts higher than I expect, and I nearly drop it. Jarrett’s shoulders move.