I followed him into the bathroom, where he placed the glass on the inset marble shelf and pressed some buttons on a pad on the wall; water started pouring into the bath. His bathroom was like something out of a hotel—walls of marble and mood lighting. Which fit, I supposed, as we were in a hotel. Sort of. He pulled towels and a robe off the shelves at the far end of the room and placed them on the bench opposite the bath.
“Okay,” he said, turning his attention back to me. “Do these scrub things have buttons, or do they just pull off?” He tugged at the hem of my top and I pulled away from him. What was he doing?
“This is your secret? This is how you seduce your women? You bathe them?” Now that we’d slept together, was this what was going to happen? I was going to get the full Miss Tuesday Night treatment?
“No, this is a bath that I ran for you. And if you’re going to get in, you need to be naked. I’m going to sit the other side of the door and we can talk about anything you want.”
I felt like I’d skipped a chapter. “And this is your secret?”
He nodded. “Baths. They’re the key to relaxation, creativity, and taking care of yourself. Or in this case, me taking care of you.” He withdrew a wooden box from a drawer under the sink, and inside were tiny bottles of who-knew-what. “We need some frankincense, chamomile, and of course, lavender.” He selected what he wanted and set about dripping the contents of each into my bath. “And some plain bath oil.” He reached for a bottle that sat next to my glass of wine and added a generous dose to the water. “It’s all organic.”
The man had lost his mind.
“Right, get in. You can put this in your biweekly report for Gerry.”
Next he’d be teaching me how to meditate.
“Save the skeptical glares, Hartford, and take off your clothes. I can’t tell you how many solutions I’ve found to problems in this bath. This tub has provided everything from breakthrough ideas for pitches to solutions for profitability issues.” He turned to me and fixed me with a smoldering look. “And I’ve never shown anyone this. Not any other woman. Not my best friends.”
I pushed him out of the door so he didn’t see my widening smile. That bath was looking pretty inviting right now.
“Are you in?” he called. “I’m going to get a cushion and a beer; I’ll be back.”
I pulled off my scrubs and stepped into the first bath I’d had in over a decade.
“I put the towels and a robe on the bench,” Joshua called from the other side of the door.
Was the bench here so someone, or a couple of people, could talk to the person bathing? Were the business set taking meetings in the tub these days?
“You want music on?” he shouted while soothing, classical piano music drifted through the speakers.
“I don’t think so,” I called back. The concerto stopped abruptly.
“I forgot to switch on the candles. The ones around the bath are battery operated. The switch is on the base.”
Candles were the last thing on my mind.
“Are you in yet?” he asked.
“Just sitting down.” How had he convinced me to do this? I felt ridiculous. But this water felt like sliding between silk sheets.
“I hope the temperature’s right. It will be thirty-eight degrees exactly. That’s how I usually take my baths.”
I let out a small laugh. “Joshua Luca, I bet if you surveyed the entire British population, you and the Queen would be the only two people in the land who would know their preferred bath temperature.” As I lowered myself into the water, I had to acknowledge that the guy knew what temperature to run a bath.
“The essential oils in there will help you relax. And also, it might help lift the smell of Yemen.”
“Hey. I do not still smell of Yemen.” But hell, this bath smelled delicious. Like a garden full of flowers. I took a deep breath and allowed my body to sink deeper into the water.
He laughed. “No. Not anymore. So, let’s talk.”
A ripple of anxiety circled in my stomach. I didn’t know what I wanted to say. I liked Joshua, there was no doubt about it. Could my forcefield handle casual sex with him? I knew he couldn’t give me anything more.
“I really enjoyed last night,” he said, his tone low and gravelly again.
“Me too,” I replied. “But let’s not talk it to death, okay?” I didn’t want some awkward dance where he had to tell me that he didn’t do serious relationships. Or that once was nice and everything but there wouldn’t be a repeat performance. My forcefield had taken hits last night and I needed to power up before I could handle a relationship talk. I just wanted it to be us. I didn’t want last night to have ruined anything. “We’re still friends.”