Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
When I start feeling a little lightheaded from the steam, I slip back into the security of my robe and duck out, finding my way back to the relaxation room.
The dim retreat smells like eucalyptus and mint, has candles flickering on every flat surface, and includes a large assortment of inviting couches, chaises, and plush chairs. It also has only one occupant now, one Dr. West Weston in the back corner, wearing a fluffy robe and resting with his eyes closed, head settled against the back of the broad chair. I don’t want to wake him, but the bamboo-wind-chime-vibe music playing in here doesn’t cover much sound, and my fresh glass of cucumber water and ice tinkles in my hand when I lift it for a sip. West opens one eye, and then two, and his face breaks into a smile that looks so genuine it makes my heart hiccup.
“Hey,” he says, all warm honey and sex.
“Hey.” I shuffle over to him and set down my glass. “Don’t you look cozy.”
“You look like you’ve been sleeping in the forest for a month.” He bites his lip. “Your hair is a pink bird’s nest.”
I reach up, touching it. “It is, in fact, a newly protected Indonesian wildlife habitat.”
He laughs, reaching for my hips and angling me down onto the chair with him.
“Hello, what’re you doing?” I ask, grinning slyly as he coaxes my legs over his thighs so I’m sitting sideways on his lap.
West sets a hand on my hip and shrugs. “It’ll be easier to talk quietly in here if you’re closer,” he whispers, nodding to the sign nearest us that reads, THIS IS A ROOM FOR RELAXATION. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM CONVERSATION.
“That’s some good thinking.” I reach up, brushing his hair off his forehead.
He looks so yummy, especially with the robe spread open down to his sternum. I get a hint of those gropable pectorals and want to dive in there and fall asleep like a cat against his torso.
“Did you get the treatment names right?” he teases quietly.
“I did. But then again, I just had a body scrub and a massage.”
“Nothing up your nose?”
“Correct.” I pull in a deep breath as if to demonstrate and feel him shift beneath me to pull me deeper onto his lap. “I feel like I’ve been transferred into new skin. Plus,” I say, brandishing my shorter nails. “I had the claws trimmed.”
I can’t be sure, but I think he looks a little disappointed. “Ah. What will I do with all the free time I have not helping you get dressed?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe spend the time in front of the mirror practicing new ways to be clever?”
“Good call.”
“Did you get your feet scrubbed?” I ask.
“I think I got everything scrubbed.” I quirk an eyebrow at this, and he laughs. “Yep. Even my ass.”
“Your mom’s boobs are really great,” I say. “No wonder you breastfed until you were four.”
West’s bursting laugh is definitely too loud for the relaxation room. “I’m not sure my mother even fed me a bottle.”
He runs his hand up my shin. Goose bumps break out on my thighs.
“Well, with both her and Blaire naked in the steam room with me,” I begin in a whisper, “Blaire speculated that you often hoist me in your thick, muscled arms during coitus.”
This time, West laughs deep in his throat. “Wonderful.”
“To be fair, Janet started it.” I send a hand up around the back of his neck. “She asked when you were going to knock me up.”
“Oh God. She didn’t.”
“She did. So I basically said we were doing our best and hit it daily.”
His eyes drop to my lips. “We would.”
“Oh, we totally would.”
I would have expected the pause that follows to be awkward, but it isn’t. West slowly strokes his big hand up and down my shin before sliding it around to cup my calf.
“My dad showed up,” he says then, quietly.
My stomach grows twisty and protective again. “Oh. And?”
A small shrug. “We had to keep it civil because we had gentlemen’s facials and massages scheduled.”
“Does that mean you had them together?”
West nods. “Charlie booked them for us. Charlie is the one person Dad would never say no to. But he mentioned every two minutes how weird it was to be in a room with his sons while he was getting massaged.”
I grimace. “Like he’s usually getting a different kind of massage?”
“I don’t really want to think about it too deeply. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the sound of oil being slathered on my father’s chest.”
I cup his cheek. “Well, your skin is very soft.”
“It felt good.”
“It does feel good.”
Silence stretches again. My attention is dragged down to the tiny, glorious hickey, and I’m unable to stop stroking his freshly facialed cheek. West looks at my lips, and his fingers move to cup the back of my knee, just beneath where my robe has drifted open. Heat engulfs my skin.