Page 81 of Second Dance
“What’s this?” I asked, my heart already racing.
“You said you had more leggings than dresses, so I thought I’d be so bold as to choose one for you to wear to dinner. Open it.”
Inside, under tissue paper, lay a Galvan silk-charmeuse slip dress in an indigo hue that looked stolen from last night’s sky. A soft cowl skimmed the collarbone, and fine straps crossed low at the back. When I picked it up, the material felt as smooth as cascading water.
My breath caught. “Alex. This color.”
“I know. It took some doing to find the exact right one.” He said it quietly, almost shy, his hands in his pockets. “For many, many nights after you left, I would look up at the sky just after twilight and think of you. Wonder where you were and if the sky was worthy of your eyes.”
My throat tightened. That he’d remembered—that he’d thought about it enough to choose this specific shade—brought me to tears.
“Are you sure?” Alex asked, watching my face. “If you don’t want to wear it, don’t worry. I won’t be hurt.”
“Are you kidding?” I held it close to me, delighting in the silky material against my warm skin. “I would be devastated if I’d picked out something this exquisite and it wasn’t appreciated. Honestly, I can’t wait.”
He gave me a look that implied he couldn’t wait to take it off me. I shivered, craving him, anticipating what might come later.
We spent the rest of the afternoon on the terrace. Alex ran a bath in the soaking tub, bubbles smelling faintly of gardenia, then turned away so I could shrug out of my robe and into the water. Although I was hidden by the layer of bubbles, I would have felt comfortable regardless. This was Alex. I’d known every inch of his body back that summer. We’d been intimate in the way only young adults can be—which is to say, a lot. We hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements for tonight, but I’d clocked the two bedrooms and felt both a pinch of disappointment and a wash of relief.
Steam billowed up as I slipped lower into the water. Alex, wearing a pair of shorts but no shirt, sat on the stone rim, bare feet in the water. He rested his forearms on his knees, watching me with a soft smile that made my stomach flip.
“Could anything be as beautiful as you in that tub?”
“The view?” I asked, laughing. “Or you without your shirt?”
“I’m not so skinny now,” Alex said.
“The years have been kind to you.” I looked up at him from beneath my lashes, letting my gaze travel over his chest and shoulders. A bolt of desire made me shiver despite the warmth of the bath.
I put my wicked, delicious thoughts aside and asked him to tell me more about his company. He did so, sharing details about the initial years and then the utter disbelief he’d felt when they’d gone public and he realized his net worth. His fingers trailed absently in the water near my shoulder, not quite touching but close enough that I felt the wake of their movement.
When the water cooled, he stood and offered me his hand. “There’s an outdoor shower. I’ll go inside so you can have the patio to yourself. I promise not to peek.”
My heart thudded. One of us had to bring up the subject. It was now or never.
“Don’t go.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Stay. Shower with me.”
His eyes darkened, his hand tightening around mine. “Gillie, do you know what you’re saying?”
“Alex Garcia, I’m a grown woman who knows her own mind. And her body.”
“Are you sure?” His voice had gone low, rough.
“Positive. I just didn’t know how to bring it up. You know, once I saw the two bedrooms.”
“It’s your choice,” Alex said, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist where my pulse hammered. “Always your choice.”
“Well, then, let’s take a shower and see where that leads us.”
“Good lord.” He pulled me gently to my feet, water sluicing off my skin. “I hope you don’t give me a heart attack.”
“Doubtful.” I smiled at him, feeling almost wanton and not caring one bit.
Minutes later, shower water cascaded down our warm bodies. I slid my hands to the back of his neck, pressing against him, feeling every plane and angle of him against me.
We kissed there, steam rising, stone warm under my heels, until it was impossible to do anything but ask him to take me inside to his room. He reached for a towel and wrapped it around me with trembling hands, another around himself, and we crossed the threshold together. The French doors clicked softly behind us, and the afternoon faded into the kind of privacy that needs no narration.
Later, when the stone had cooled and the trellis shadows had lengthened across the floor, I took yet another shower and got ready for dinner.
