Page 25 of Resist

“Have lots of unexpected overnight guests?” she asked, wishing her question was a joke rather than misplaced jealousy.

“Nope,” he replied. “You’re the first one.”

Ainsley decided that had to be a lie, because there was no way a hot guy—and professional athlete—didn’t have a revolving door of women in and out of this place. Of course, if he did, they weren’t sleeping in the guest room.

Coulton left her on her own, so she walked to the bathroom, her eyes nearly popping out of her head when she saw the big tub.

She felt like she should skip the bath and take a quick shower instead. After all, soaking in a stranger’s tub would be strange, right?

Unable to let that conviction stick, she plugged the tub and started running the water. Because she hadn’t had a bath since…maybe ever? At least not since she was a little baby and too young to remember. No one in their right mind would sit their bare ass down in the bathtub in her family’s apartment, thanks to the rust stains and mildew that no cleaning product on the market could touch, and the apartment she’d rented with Jagger only had a small shower stall.

Once the tub was nearly full, she stripped off her clothes and slipped in, sinking into the honest-to-God hot water. The standard temperature for her showers at home was tepid.

Alone, she didn’t bother to hold in her moan of pure delight as she lay down, only her head remaining above the steaming water. Reaching for the clean washcloth on a shelf beside the tub, she squirted some bath wash on it, running it over her body. Then she held her nose and dunked her head under the water, wetting her hair so that she could use the expensive citrus-scented shampoo. Rinsing out the suds, she repeated the process with the conditioner, then lay still, letting the heat work its magic on her sore body.

She’d never felt this clean or relaxed in her life.

Ainsley remained in the bath, nearly falling asleep, until the cooling water and her empty stomach told her it was time to get out.

Grabbing a towel, she dried off, the soft cotton so nice against her skin. When she returned to the bedroom, she was touched to discover Coulton had placed one of his T-shirts and a pair of boxers on the bed for her to sleep in. She pulled the shirt on, the huge thing falling to her knees, covering up the boxers completely.

She considered tugging on her jeans but couldn’t make herself do it. She wanted to enjoy this feeling of being clean for as long as she could.

She showered every day, so it wasn’t like she was dirty, but that soak in Coulton’s tub had done more than merely scrub the surface. It had gone deeper than that. In ways she couldn’t fully understand or explain to herself.

She roamed around the guest room for a moment, trying to get a feel for the guy. She stopped by the dresser, picking up a picture frame. The photo was of Coulton with an attractive blonde, the two mugging for the camera, looking so happy and in love, it almost took Ainsley’s breath away. The blonde looked exactly like the type of woman whoshoulddate a guy like Coulton—pretty, sweet, clean-cut, with perfect teeth, stylish clothes, soft, wavy, natural blonde hair that had probably never seen a bottle of dye.

She’d bet every dime she had the woman didn’t have a single tattoo, and her only piercings were the ones in her earlobes filled with those tasteful diamond studs.

Diamonds.

Ainsley scoffed, put the frame down, and decided she’d seen enough.

Walking to the kitchen, she took a second to watch Coulton, whose back was turned. He’d put on a clean shirt too, which was a shame.

Although, even fully dressed, he cut an impressive form.

Jesus, the man’s ass in those tight jeans was a work of art.

“There you are,” he said, turning and catching her creeping on him. “I was afraid you’d fallen asleep.”

“That bath was… I’ve never taken…” She stopped. She’d almost admitted it was her first bath, which felt too personal and humiliating to share.

Coulton looked at her for a second, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he finished for her. “Never taken a bath?”

She tried to tell herself the reason her cheeks felt hot was the residual effects of the bath. Not embarrassment. “It was amazing,” she said, rather than admitting he was right. His expression told her that her confession wasn’t necessary.

“Come eat.” He placed bowls on the kitchen island, along with bottles of water, and the two of them claimed stools, side by side.

Coulton handed her a bottle of salad dressing. “Didn’t put this on because I wasn’t sure if you liked balsamic vinaigrette. If you don’t, I have ranch, blue cheese, or Caesar in the fridge.”

“This is great.” Ainsley tried to remember the last time she’d eaten a salad. If she could even classify this as a salad. Hers were typically the premade variety from the grocery store that she could only afford when they were one day from going bad.

Coulton’s salad was as big a masterpiece as his ass. He had three different kinds of greens, fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion, hard-boiled eggs, chunks of blue cheese, real bacon bits, and what she swore looked like homemade croutons. He’d topped it with sliced, seasoned chicken breast, and her bowl alone contained enough to feed a family of five.

“This is delicious,” she said, forcing herself to make conversation when all she wanted to do was shovel the mouthwatering food into her mouth.

“I promised you healthy.”

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