Chapter 3 #2
“Your memory might just come back to you, Ari. If it doesn’t, well then, we just draw a line through it and move forward. No use dwelling over something we can’t do anything about.”
“You’re right.” I shrug. “If I can’t remember, I can’t remember. That’s it,” I say more positively than before. I have wasted so much time looking back and thinking how different things could be that I never learned to look forward and change things for the better.
Denham goes straight to the bathroom and I hear the clink of glass bottles and cupboard doors opening and closing. “Could I have a bath instead?” I call out.
He pops his head around the door. “Sure thing,” he says with a wink.
I hear the bath start to run, and perch on the edge of the bed, stripping off my tee and shorts and before I wrap up in my huge, fluffy robe.
While I wait, I brush out my tangled hair, being careful to avoid the huge lump on the back of my head.
While I’m teasing through the ends, I admire the three roses in the vase on the nightstand.
They have such delicate beautiful petals, but one looks to be wilting slightly.
I recognize this as being the one from our first date as it was slightly pinker in color.
The other two are a deeper red, but no less beautiful.
“You need a hand?” Denham asks from the doorway.
“No. Thank you. I think I’ve got all the tangles out,” I say, catching a rogue knot and wincing a little.
“Here, let me do that,” he says, sitting behind me and gently brushing my hair until it’s smooth.
“You know, when she was about six, my sister Tara used to say she had to brush her hair two hundred strokes a day to make it shine. She always counted until she couldn’t count any further.
” He speaks with such affection in his voice, and I love the fact that he’s so fond of his family.
Being an only child, I have no idea what it would have been like growing up with siblings, but I think I would have liked it.
“She didn’t usually count much past one hundred before she was yawning and falling asleep in my arms. She never knew if I finished brushing to two hundred strokes or not but she went to bed with such a smile on her face to think her hair would be shiny because of it, that it made me want to do it all the more. ”
“Did you brush her hair two hundred strokes?”
“Yes,” he chuckles, “every night.”
“You’re a big softie,” I state.
“Come on, your bath will be run …” he says, ignoring my statement as he hops off the bed and helps me stand.
I walk in front of him into the bathroom and he smacks my ass with the back of the hairbrush.
It sounds louder than it feels but I yelp all the same.
“That’s for calling me soft.” He smirks and shakes his head “I’ll show you I’m not soft, just you wait. ” I love this playful side of him.
“I’ll look forward to it, Mr. King,” I reply seductively, undoing my robe and dropping it in a puddle at my feet, so he has a view from behind.
Casting a glance over my shoulder I catch a glimpse of his face as his eyes widen, and his nostrils flare, before I smile to myself and continue to the bathroom.
I dip my toe in the water that’s just hot enough to feel amazing but not too hot that it burn me, then immerse myself up to my neck in the bubbles that now reach the edge of the tub.
Denham, comes in, his face a mask of control, unbuckles his belt, shucks his cargo pants and throws them into a heap in the corner.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
“I’m bathing with you.”
“You are?” I don’t know why this perplexes me so much.
Maybe because I’ve never had a bath with anyone.
It feels so … intimate. Not that we haven’t been intimate with each other before now, but it just feels so different.
I imagine what it was like growing up in Denham’s house.
He, Spike, and Tara all carry a confidence about them and I would imagine they all shared the same bath water, and peed with the bathroom door open.
Comfortable within themselves and each other.
The only time I’ve been naked with or around anyone it’s been sexual and even then I’d get dressed immediately after.
Denham seems comfortable with his body, with or without clothes, and rightly so.
He is honed and toned, but not so much that you lose the softness of his skin and I wonder if he got two people’s share of gorgeous when he was created.
He walks behind the tub, placing both hands on my shoulders and I scoot forward to make room for him.
He slides in behind me, his legs open on either side of my body and his arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me into his warm, hard chest and surrounded by everything that is uniquely him.
He rests his chin on my shoulder and nuzzles his head into me letting out a big sigh and placing a lingering kiss when my neck meets my shoulder.
We sit immersed in the huge tub, surrounded by bubbles and each other, and it feels like we are the only people that exist. I want us to be the only people that exist. No cares or troubles, just us.
Uncomplicated moments like this without the stresses or strains that seem to plague our everyday lives.
“What are you thinking?” Denham asks softly.
“Nothing, really. Just enjoying this, us, here.”
He rewards my answer with more gentle kisses along my shoulder and up my neck. My body heats. Arousal fires up across my skin but settles in an insistent ache between my legs.
“Ari?” My name comes out as a whisper, fanning my skin.
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly.
“You know I’ll always protect you, right?”
“Yes,” I say. It’s the easiest answer I’ve ever given. I have no idea how I know this, I just do. It remains one of life’s mysteries like, why is the grass green? It’s green, just because it is. And this, whatever this is, is no different.
“You trust me?”
“Yes, I trust you,” I answer with a smile. His voice sounds unsure and for once it’s me with the certain answers and him seeking the reassurance. His arms tighten around me and I suck in a breath through my teeth when he squeezes my ribs just a little too much.
“Shit,” he hisses. “Ari, I’m sorry, I didn’t think.
” Denham quickly releases his hold on me and braces his arms either side of the tub.
I can’t help it, but I start to laugh. It’s the first time I’ve properly laughed in a few days and although my aching bones protest, if feels good to let the laughter move through my body.
I sit forward and turn my head to look over my shoulder at Denham.
He is looking at me with a very puzzled expression, and I see the infectious laughter is tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Arianna. What on earth is so funny?” he asks.
“You!” I say, around the laughter, “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t mean you’re funny, you’re not, I mean I’m not laughing at you … It’s just—”
He raises his brow at the nonsense spilling from my lips.
I take a deep breath and calm my hysteria, “I’m sorry. You’re so sweet to me …”
He lets himself rest against the back of the tub, one arm rests along the rim and he rubs his forehead with the other. “Okay, okay, I’m finished.”
“Finished laughing at me?” he says with a smirk. “Or finished your hysterics?”
“Both,” I blurt. “I mean, I wasn’t laughing at you!”
I bury my head in my hands, still chuckling, and knowing he isn’t really mad with me. This is what I love. The playfulness between us, which comes so naturally, and makes the air around me feel lighter. I scoot forward a little more, allowing me enough room to turn and face Denham.
I turn carefully, and it doesn’t hurt my ribs as much as I thought it might have which reinforces that I’m just bruised, and it’ll only take a few days to heal.
When I’ve turned around fully, I look up.
Denham’s hand is outstretched just in front of my face at eye level.
He has his palm full of bubbles, and his head dipped with a wicked gleam in his eye.
I don’t have any time to react as it takes me a couple of seconds to take it in.
He blows hard and the bubbles cover my face, making me jump and squeal.
I push my hands into the deep water in front of me to move backwards fast, but all it does is create a wave of water, which hits Denham’s chest and splashes up into his face.
He gasps and when his eyes meet mine he raises a brow and grins.
He leans forward ever so slowly, his hands rest on the bottom of the bath and he pushes himself up onto his feet so he’s crouching like an animal that’s about to stalk his prey.
My eyes widen, locked with his. My breath hitches.
His body is covered in a layer of silky bubbles and all of a sudden there’s a familiar crackle in the air, and it’s not so playful anymore. It’s carnal.
He settles his knees on either side of my thighs, trapping me underneath him, and his eyes don’t leave mine the whole time he’s moving.
As his chest moves forward, I move back as far as the tub will allow until I have my back pressed to the marble, and Denham has his chest pressed to mine.
His head dips, and he kisses a path from my neck, along my collarbone.
“Now that I have you all soapy and wet in the tub, what am I going to do with you?” Denham whispers into my skin.
He trails his fingers from my shoulder, down my chest and pushes the bubbles aside that have clung to my skin and I let my head fall back and rest on the edge of the rolled top of the tub. He brushes his fingertips slowly over my bruised ribs, then inhales a sharp intake of breath. “Fuck … Ari …”
I snap my head up to look at him, as his whole face changes from turned on to worried.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Your ribs … Look at your fucking ribs,” he says scraping his wet hands through his hair.