Page 88 of Paper Roses

“I don’t need that,” I say, looking into his eyes.

He arches one eyebrow. “Maybe I do.”

I consider that and then smile at him. “Go ahead, then,” I say magnanimously.

“Thank you so much.”

He strips off our remaining clothes and then despite my protests, he carries me up the stairs and sets me on the counter next to the newly installed bath in our en suite. The bath is enormous and easily able to take two men, and it’s set in the corner in front of a tall window looking out over the common.

“What are you doing?” I ask, kicking my legs idly.

“Running a bath.” He turns on the taps. “You’re freezing cold.”

“For both of us?”

He hesitates. I drag him closer, using my feet. When I wind my legs around him, he grunts and falls against me.

He trails his fingers down my thigh, his expression worried. “I was rough. I think you might be bruised.”

“I liked every single thing you did to me,” I tell him.

“I had no right to that caveman display. It was very petty.”

“It was actuallyglorious.”

He groans. “You’re supposed to be telling me off.”

I run my hands down the sides of his muscled torso, feeling the hair under my fingertips. “Why would I do that, when I loved it?” I reach in and lick up his neck, sucking on his earlobe and feeling him shudder. “I loved every single thing you did to me, and those bruises make it even hotter.”

He’s quiet, but I hope he’s listening, because I mean every word. He needs to realise that I’m not breakable.

I tug on a strand of his hair. It’s darker now, with only a few golden strands giving hints at the past summer. “Were you jealous?” I whisper, holding my breath.

He examines my face, his expression wry. “And would you like that, minx?”

I grin at him. “Maybe.”

“Really?” His lip twitches as he moves away to light the candles on the shelf. “Then maybe I was.” He narrows his eyes, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to lecture me, but then I shiver, and he shakes himself. “You’re cold.”

He checks the water and then helps me into the tub. I look at him steadily and gesture to the bath. “You, too.”

“You’re extraordinarily bossy, do you know that?” he says, but there’s a wry cast to his lips, and he slides in behind me. I rest back against him with a sigh of happiness.

We lie in contented silence for a few minutes, the room lit with the glow of the candles. It’s extraordinarily romantic, but I won’t enlighten him about the fact. He reaches forward and starts the jets, and we both sigh as they pummel us. His hands slide down my arms before he picks up one and examines my fingers. He lifts them to his mouth and kisses them with a courtly gesture that’s somehow so him. He manages to combine raunchiness with a gentleness that seems effortless and gets me every time.

Catching my expression, he rolls his eyes wryly and grabs the sponge. He pours the soap that I like onto it and runs it along my shoulders and arms, pausing occasionally to rinse me with hot water.

“Did you bathe with Mick?” I ask and put my hand on his thigh to stop him from moving away. “It’s a simple question,” I whisper. “I’d like to know something about him, Jed.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “For you. It doesn’t do you any good to keep him locked inside you. It’s not fair on him, either.” I hold my breath, and when he says nothing, I sigh. “I’m sorry,” I say immediately, feeling dreadful. “My experience of speaking my mind to Ben has obviously gone to my head. I have absolutely no right to lecture you on your own bloody grief.”

There are a few seconds of silence, and I wish I could see his face.

“You spoke your mind to Ben?” His voice sounds odd, but he holds me still when I try to turn.

“Thatis what you’re focusing on?”

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