“Is that an order?”
“If you obey it, it is.”
“Then it’s an order.”
He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her off the bed. The bathroom was lovely, if rustic, or perhaps lovely and rustic. She wondered if the tile on the floor was original to the hotel.
“I don’t know,” Chris said. “They’re good at finding craftsmen who can match the original look.”
“Like you?”
“The fireplace is easy work. The sons and grandsons of the original carpenters do most of the heavy lifting around here.” Chris turned on the shower and the water heated up quickly. “I was here one day with them and this old guy and his wife walked past
us. He slapped his hand down on a beam and said, ‘Now this is good old-fashioned craftsmanship. They sure don’t build stuff like they used to.’ The carpenter next to me leaned and in said, ‘Let’s not tell him I replaced that beam last week.’”
Joey laughed as she stepped into the shower, doing her best to keep her hair out of the stream of water. She didn’t need to rewash her hair. Thankfully Chris had good aim—in several ways. He went completely under the water, however, and with her hands full of shampoo she scrubbed every particle of stone and old fireplace dust out of his near-blond hair. Then he returned the favor but soaping up his hands and washing his semen off her stomach and breasts. It didn’t take long but he seemed to linger over the work.
Chris held her by the waist and kissed her under the hot water. She saw him looking down at her wet body and shaking his head.
“What?” she asked.
“I was just thinking that you are definitely worth the trouble.”
“Am I trouble?”
“Not really. Just...Dillon’s going to kill me. He told me that this morning.”
“Why does Dillon even care? He’s getting married in ten days—on my birthday, let me remind you. I should be killing him.”
“He’s going to kill me because I was supposed to talk to you about something and I didn’t talk to you about it because, you know...”
“We had sex instead.”
“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
“What’s the thing you’re supposed to talk about?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.”
“Okay, it does,” Chris said. “But I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I promised I wouldn’t try to make you stay.”
“Stay where?”
“Stay in Oregon at Lost Lake.”
“Why should I stay at Lost Lake? I have a job, you know, and it’s not in Lost Lake.”
“He wants to hire you for a job.”
“Dillon wants to hire me? I’m not a lawyer.”
“Not at his law firm. At Lost Lake Village Rentals.”