All the Way (Romancing Manhattan 1) - Page 38

“You don’t need me to, no.”

“But I do need more food.”

“How about if I run you a hot bath and I’ll order Chinese for when you’re done?”

She smiles. “I can live with that.”

I walk past her to fill the tub. This is the first time she’s been in my home, and I haven’t given her the tour yet. I was too eager to get her in my bed.

The tub is tucked behind a curtain, in its own alcove. I start the water, add some oil, light a few candles, and then walk back to the bedroom to find London sitting on the bed, naked from the waist up, waiting for me. She’s pulled her hair into a messy knot on the top of her head.

She’s fucking breathtaking.

“Ready for me?” she asks.

“Always.” I hold my hand out to her and lead her into the bathroom, and she gasps.

“Holy shit, Finn.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“This is your bathtub?” She immediately covers herself, but I wrap my arms around her and hug her close.

“No one can see you.”

“It’s floor-to-ceiling windows and it’s dark outside.”

“They’re privacy windows. Trust me, I’m not sharing this amazing body with anyone.” I kiss her forehead and lead her to the bathtub.

“This tub is ridiculous. It’s like a hammock.”

She’s right. It’s supported on either side by a wall, with the spigot also coming out of the wall. But there is nothing beneath the tub except for tile.

“How is it staying off the ground? Doesn’t the water make it heavy?”

“Well, I don’t have a degree in engineering or physics, but I can assure you that it’s sound.” She climbs inside and sighs in happiness as she leans back, the water covering her.

“Are you really going to make me take a bath in this beauty by myself? This is a two-person bath.”

“If I’m in there with you, I can’t order dinner.”

“Later.” She smiles up at me, and I know I can’t resist her. I climb in with her and shut the water off before it flows over the sides. She scoots so her back is resting against my chest and leans her head back. “See? This is nice.”

“Very nice,” I agree, reaching for the sponge and soap. “I’m going to wash you.”

“That sounds lovely.”

I brush the sponge over her breasts and her stomach, then follow the path again.

“I should apologize,” she says, making me pause. “I did sound like a child this afternoon, and it was ridiculous. So I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” I reply, and kiss her temple.

“I was just so frustrated.”

“Okay, talk to me. Tell me why.”

She sighs, as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders, and I want nothing more than to ease that burden.

“I come from a wealthy family, Finn. My father, while ensuring that I have a work ethic, indulged me quite a lot while I was growing up. I didn’t want for much, and I’m not complaining about that.

“When I moved to New York, I saw so many of my peers struggle to make ends meet while pursuing their dreams. They’d eat nothing but ramen and scrambled eggs because the rent is so high here.

“I never had that worry. Back when I wasn’t making quite enough money to fully support myself, my dad helped me out. I’ve never had to wonder how I’d balance a budget or worry about the electricity being shut off. I’m a lucky woman.

“However, with that security came strings. He was a good man who loved me and wanted to help me, but because of the help he felt entitled to tell me how to live my life. I was never allowed to make my own life decisions because he held the strings.

“I do work very hard. I know that I’ve inherited a lot of money, but I already had my own money because of that hard work. I’ve starved myself, and put my body through more than most people can even imagine, just so I would land roles.”

She looks up at me.

“As a sidebar, I’d like to clarify that I’ve never slept with anyone for a role. I won’t do that.”

“Understood.”

No, she wouldn’t do that.

“I haven’t had to ask my dad for help in more than a decade, and that’s unusual for an artist living in Manhattan. I’m proud of it. So, I enjoy buying myself beautiful things. I don’t need you to buy them for me, and I don’t need any of the strings that might come along with them.”

“Of course not,” I reply with a frown. “I know that you can buy it for yourself, but I want to buy it for you.”

“You’re not hearing me,” she says, and pulls away, turning to face me in the tub. “That’s why I was so frustrated. You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re saying you don’t want me to buy you presents. But a few weeks ago you said you enjoy presents.”

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