Chapter 6
Six
Seth
I had to get away from Claire. So when the opportunity presented itself to clean up after dinner, I took it. Claire’s currently in the room, taking a shower, and I’m washing the dishes. I try to focus on the suds, the smell of the soap, instead of where my mind really wants to go.
She kept pushing that thick bottom lip of hers through her teeth like a nervous habit. It was nothing but the two of us and her showing off that fucking perfect lip. All I wanted to do was taste it. Taste her.
The same way I wanted to pull her into my lap and tell her everything was fine while we were driving—not that it was even possible.
My brain wrestled with the strong pull, almost like a string connecting us when I grabbed her hand on the plane.
She had this energy about her, like she needed soothing. She needed someone to care.
I’ve always been able to tap into what people need.
It’s a blessing and a curse, depending on the day.
A skill I’ve been able to tailor and use to my advantage across people and places.
Call out what isn’t quite right. Like when we were on the road and any focus I could spare was spent on everyone else—I was being a defensive driver.
Now, I’m stuck in some random place for who knows how long, with someone as gorgeous as Claire.
I don’t want to tell her, but the weather doesn’t look like it’s going to let up tomorrow.
At least, not early enough for us to make the drive.
I’ve got some contacts at a few large airports and when I told them about the emergency landing, they told me to expect flights to stay grounded tomorrow.
And it’s her birthday. Fuck. I didn’t know a ton about Claire prior to us spending the day together, besides the fact that people don’t want to fuck with her.
She knows her shit and doesn’t get pushed around—another turn on.
It seems like she prefers to be in control—a.k.a. , this situation is her nightmare.
Standing outside the door to our room, I take a deep breath, letting my lungs stretch as much as possible while my heart rate slows. I can do this.
I knock on the door, letting Claire know I’m back before slowly opening it. The room smells like lavender and peppermint—has to be something from the shower—and the door to the bathroom is cracked open, light and steam filtering into the bedroom from the other side.
Opening my suitcase, I grab a pair of shorts to sleep in and wait for Claire to be done in the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I think about how I’m going to be sharing a bed with someone for the first time in who knows how long. I can’t even remember the last time I went on a date.
Pathetic. Or maybe just how I like it. Who fucking knows at this point.
My shoulders ache from the drive. I try to roll them out, loosen them up, and stretch my neck side to side. I’m pulling my neck, deepening the stretch, when the door to the bathroom swings open, steam escaping.
And then I’m a statue, unable to move or look away. Because there stands Claire in this black lacy piece of lingerie. It hits the top of her thigh and I know it barely covers her ass. Her full tits are snug in the top, her soft skin spilling slightly over.
She presses her lips together and looks around before clearing her throat. “I packed for Miami. This is all I have.” Her eyes look down her body and now I’m cataloging her legs—thick, muscular, and skin I’m dreaming to touch.
I cross my legs, doing anything to hide the erection that’s going to give me away any second now. It’s been too long since I’ve been with anyone and seeing her like that? Knowing we’re going to share a bed? What the fuck am I supposed to do?
“If you’re uncomfortable, I can put the robe on over it.” She crosses her arms over her chest, right where her nipples dare to show through the fabric.
“No, no. Don’t. This is… fine.” My words are flat and I swear I can see part of her shrink.
“Wait, it’s not fine. It’s… you know…” Seth, you fucking blubbering idiot, string together a sentence.
I look her up and down another time, giving my brain the time to compute words that will actually make sense.
“You’re gorgeous. If you want to pull the robe on, don’t do it on my account, because that’s not necessary. ”
Claire bites her bottom lip and I’d put money she’s trying to hold back a smile.
She walks over to what she’s deemed her side of the bed, which coincidentally leaves my side open.
Falling onto the top of the blankets, she sits, crossing her ankles at the end of the bed and smoothing out the fabric to cover as much of her as possible.
Peeking at her, I can see a sliver of her ass peeking through the transparent fabric, the lace delicate and beautiful.
Her empty champagne flute catches my eye sitting empty on her bedside table. “Birthday girl, you want more wine?” I stand and reach for the chilled bottle. Part of me is nervous to see her reaction to me calling her that.
She giggles and it cuts through the tension in my chest—playful and light compared to the knotted worries in my muscles. ”I’d love some,” her eyes are on me with pink painting her cheeks, either from the hot shower or being embarrassed at me calling her birthday girl.
Claire lifts the flute and I carefully pour the bubbly wine. I fill it up, a little more than what’s probably acceptable, and the bubbles quickly rise to the top of the glass. Claire puts it to her lips, slurping the top so it doesn’t overflow.
“Hey! Too much.” I can hear the smile in her voice as I put the wine back in the chiller.
I pick up my clothes and walk into the bathroom, turning over my shoulder and remarking, “There’s no such thing when it comes to champagne.”
The words are a reflex. Something I used to say in what feels like a previous life. They catch both of us off guard, for probably very different ways.
Before I can say anything else that brings me too far down memory lane, I shut the bathroom door and turn on the shower.