Page 36 of The VIP Package

“I meant at home.” I’m chalking his surliness up to concern, which is sweet in an unsettling way.

“I can cook,” mutters Grumpy McGrumpypants.

“That French toast was outstanding.” We’re at the top of the stairs now, where lush ferns and plants with orange-spotted leaves frame the top of the waterfall. “You like water features a lot, huh?”

“One would hope so,” he mutters, which isn’t an answer.

Ash pivots at the top of the stairs, striding into a room that’s the size of my house.

My house with Hayden, which won’t be my home for much longer. I wait for a sharp pang of sadness or loss, but it doesn’t come. Maybe I’m still in shock.

“This is your bedroom?”

“Indeed.”

The walls are stark white and a huge king-sized bed sits under a giant window. It’s draped in soft linen bedding, with pillows and sheets in five or six hues of blue. There’s an ivory coverlet I’d probably wreck within minutes by spilling nail polish or wine.

Ashton deposits me at the foot of the bed, then stalks to the en suite bathroom framed by double French doors. Water startsrunning, so I tuck the red towel tighter around me and wander his bedroom.

All the furniture is made from the same splotchy wood as the stairs. I’m exploring his space, touching the dresser and picking up picture frames. There’s a photo with Ash and two people I assume are his parents. They have matching blue eyes and icy-stern expressions like his. He’s wearing a cap and gown, and everyone’s stiff-armed and rigid.

In a blue and white frame right beside it, there’s a photo of a woman. A beautiful brunette with sun-streaked waves and an open smile. She’s barefoot and wearing a pale peach sundress, her pink-tipped toes curled in the sand.

On her lap sits a boy, maybe three or four years old. He has a gap-toothed smile and freckles like sunbursts on each of his cheeks. I squint at the photo, admiring the cool blue of eyes that remind me so much of?—

“Camille!”

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

“Yes, sir.” I snap a salute and pad into the bathroom.

He looks up from running the water. “How’s the pain?”

“All right.” It’s faded enough that I almost forgot I got stung by a jellyfish. “I think maybe?—”

“Let me see.” He yanks the towel from my body and glares at my thigh like it offended him. “I don’t like how red that is.”

“It doesn’t like you much, either.”

Ignoring me, he plunges a hand in the bath. When he pulls it out, I notice he’s holding a thermometer. “One-ten,” he reports. “Get in.”

“Okay, bossy-boss man.” I slide into the tub, hissing and yelping a little. “Hot.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Know how I know you’re worried about me?” God, this is scorching.

“How?”

“Because you’re watching my face and not my tits.” I sink into the water, bending a little so my boobs tip toward him. “They’reright here, in your face, but you haven’t even noticed?—”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed.” His chiseled jaw clenches. “I can’t take care of you if I get distracted. Stop distracting me.”

“Fine.” I settle in the tub, my salty skin adjusting to the heat of the water. “Your bathtub could fit a car in it.”

“And infinitely more practical than a carwash. How’s the pain?”

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