Page 86 of The Plus One Pact

"I didn't bring lingerie," she says.

"Then I guess you'll have to start naked."

Chapter Nineteen

Ivy

So much for solidarity. The second the word sex falls from Romeo's lips, I forget all about the frustration in Cynthia's eyes. But then it's probably better if I stay away from the situation.

The man invited me here to impress his family, not counsel his brother's fiancée. She has cold feet. That's normal.

She seemed madly in love, overall.

She probably just needs time.

Not advice from someone who, let's face it, didn't do so great on the marriage front.

Guilt settles in my stomach. But it dissolves as I climb upstairs and take my place in the bedroom. As it turns out, Romeo bought something for me. A silk robe in a sleek shade of teal. An expensive gift. Maybe to make it look like he'd bought me something.

Maybe for some other person.

Maybe as a part of his routine. He doesn't just make you come. He buys you presents on Valentine's Day too.

Is this real or fake? I can't tell. I'm already dizzy from all this back and forth.

I undress in my bedroom alone. There is something about being totally and completely naked. An honesty to it. Look at me, nowhere to hide, no way to pretend.

That feeling of lying naked with someone after sex—

I miss that.

I really do.

The way the act strips away the emotional and physical barriers.

Maybe we can find some of that. Not all of it. But some of it.

Or maybe the robe is a sign. That he doesn't want to get naked with me. Not that way.

After all, we're not really a couple. We're not really in love. We're only pretending.

I can't control how honest he is. Only how much of myself I share. And that's scary. Terrifying, really.

I slide on the robe. The silk feels soft and smooth against my skin. Somehow, the cool sensation is even more sensual than the warmth of his touch. The luxury of it, maybe.

The way he picked the color for me. Because I wear it a lot. Because it looks like my eyes. Because I love the ocean.

Does he really know all that about me? Or are those lines he uses with everyone?

I believe this is personal. At least to some degree. I believe I’m getting a part of him.

He knocks before I can consider the matter further.

"Come in," I say, from my spot on the bed.

He does, and once again, my desire for him overwhelms every rational thought in my brain.

How can the man look sexy in a black silk robe? He should look like a cheesy Hugh Hefner wannabe, but the silk hangs off his shoulder just so.