He walked past me to get to the door, pushing it open and walking into the bathroom. Standing from the bed, I made my way to the door too, gripping one of the frames and pressing my cheek to it.
I watched him lean over and grip the silver knobs of the clawfoot tub. He started the water, dropping his hands under the stream to check the temperature. When it was just right, he grabbed a small, purple bottle from the shelf pinned to the wall above it.
“Lavender and chamomile,” he noted, smirking at me. I smiled back as he added a few drops to the water. “It will make you feel calmer. Loosen the tension in your muscles. It always soothes me.”
“I’ll be honest, Cane. I can’t picture you sitting in that bathtub,” I laughed.
He laughed with me, a comforting noise that didn’t make me feel so out of place. “There’s a bigger one down the hallway that I use. My tub at home is a California luxury whirlpool. It fits two people.” He placed the oil in its rightful place and grabbed another bottle, adding a few drops of it to the water too and creating an instant bubble mixture.
Walking to the cabinet by the shower, he took down a sky-blue towel, similar in color to the walls of the bathroom, and placed it on the towel rack. Going back to the cabinet, he pulled down two white votive candles in frosted glasses, sparked the wicks with a lighter from his pocket, and then placed them on the countertop.
The oils from the tub were already making the bathroom smell delightful, but the lit candles made it romantic. When it was all set up, he came my way, stopping one step short. He grabbed my chin between his fingers, eyes falling to study my lips. “I’ll let you get comfortable. Turn the water off when it’s where you want it to be.”
I bobbed my head and he pulled away, walking out of the bathroom and leaving me to it. I left the door partially open, my belly a swirled mixture of butterflies and excitement. I was truly nervous now. Cane would see me naked. Completely naked. A bathing suit wouldn’t hide me this time. I would be fully exposed.
I undressed slowly in front of the tub. I looked all around me, from the tub, to the glass-cased shower, down to the stone flooring and marble counters, to the two windows that were a few inches above my head.
I told myself this was okay. I was nervous as hell, but I wanted this, and it was finally happening. I couldn’t back out—wouldn’t back out. With that thought in mind, I dipped a foot into the water. It was the perfect temperature. I climbed into it and sat down, sifting some of the bubbles through my fingers and running them over my legs. I shut the water off when it was just above my chest, and no less than a minute later, Cane was coming back in.
I drew my knees to my chest and smiled at him over my shoulder as he walked my way with a footstool in hand. He placed it in front of the tub and sat. He wasn’t wearing his dress shirt anymore. He’d changed into a plain white T-shirt. The shirt revealed everything, from his broad, sculpted chest to the perfect, narrow torso that led down to thick thighs. His tattoos were revealed, and it was always strange seeing them, but only because he usually covered them up. The look suited him, but if I’d seen a man like Cane, the last thing I would have assumed was that he was the millionaire owner of a wine, chocolates, and lingerie company.
“The water okay?” he asked me.
“It’s great.”
He gave a close-lipped smile and grabbed something that was beside the tub. He lifted up a pink sponge and back scrubber and dipped it into the water.
“I’m going to bathe you. All you have to do is relax,” he murmured. But relaxing was hard as hell to do when I was naked as hell in front of him.
I did the best I could. I dropped my legs, and was glad the foam covered most of my breasts. “I know it seems weird and is new for you,” he said, running the sponge over my arm. “This is new for me too. Doing this with someone like you.”
“You’ve done this for other women?”
“Only one.”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say that. “Oh.”
He was quiet for a beat, focused on sliding the sponge over my shoulder.
“She was drunk,” he continued, focused on the sponge. “She’d thrown up all over herself, in her bed—everywhere. I had just come home and could smell it through her door. It was awful. Almost made me want to throw up.” He let out a pained laugh. “When I was younger, I remember she would use chamomile and lavender for my baths. I used to have a bit of a temper problem, so she’d run the bath for me, add the oils, let me soak for a bit until I’d calmed down, and then she’d come and help me wash. When I got older she didn’t do it as much, but I did miss them.”