Reluctantly Yours(38)

“Will this do?” Barrett asks from the doorway.

“I suppose it will have to.” I sigh. Barrett shakes his head, then pushes off the door frame to leave.

“Dinner will be in twenty minutes,” he calls as he exits.

“Uh huh,” is my only response. I’m too busy turning the bathtub on and stripping out of my clothes.

Holy freaking bananas. I might get fired from my job because I never leave this tub. That would be ironic.

I sink into the warm water and let it soothe my tired muscles. It’s been a day.

I pop in my earbuds, turn on some relaxing music on my phone, and let my mind wander. The goal is to zone out, meditate, become one with this tub, but instead my brain automatically draws up the image of Barrett on the tennis court. It must be my head injury that has me recalling every detail. Sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his muscular frame. Forearm muscles bunching with every swing. And my favorite, those long fingers of his gripping his racquet handle.

The thought of Barrett has caused an ache between my thighs. If I’m being honest, it’s been there since I saw him standing outside the racquet club.

I bite my lip and trace a finger along the surface of the water, fighting the urge to give into temptation. When I close my eyes again, he’s there. Standing outside the pro shop door, those tantalizing fingers sliding over his jaw.

The water ripples as I move a hand between my legs.

After the busy day, I thought I’d be up for relaxation, but in the end dirty thoughts of Barrett win out.





CHAPTER 11





Barrett





I glance at the clock again. It’s nearly eight o’clock. Fifteen minutes past when I told Chloe to meet me for dinner.

I’ve showered, dressed and heated up the meal Dimitri left for this evening. With an unexpected guest, the portions were light so I threw together a spinach, strawberry and walnut salad from the refrigerator. I’ve watched the clock on the kitchen counter tick off the minutes, my frustration growing with every minute that goes by.

I don’t wait on people, especially in my own home.

I push back my chair and head for the stairs. With each step, my irritation is building.

It doesn’t matter that forty minutes ago I was in the shower with my dick in my hand thinking about Chloe’s perfect ass and full lips. Any calm I felt from that release has left my body and now I can feel every muscle start to ratchet down tight again.

Outside Chloe’s door, I knock.

It’s quiet, and there’s no response.

This time, I bang on it. Still nothing. I push the door open to find an empty room. Chloe’s suitcase is still at the foot of the bed, her bags of books sitting on the sofa untouched. No evidence that she’s attempted to unpack.

That’s when I hear a sound. It’s faint. I move to put my ear to the bathroom door.

The door is solid, not giving me any feedback, but I swear I hear it again.

For a moment, my anger subsides as it occurs to me that she could be hurt. Fred’s shot nailed her in the head pretty hard. Maybe she felt dizzy in the shower and collapsed. Or lost consciousness in the bathtub. I knock on the bathroom door and yell her name. No answer.

“Chloe!” I try again.

Panic grips my chest. I try the handle. It’s unlocked, so I throw the door open.

My eyes immediately find her. She’s lying in the tub, eyes closed. I scan her body head to toe to determine if she’s hurt. My observations tell me she’s okay. I know she’s conscious because her head is tilted back, and she’s got her bottom lip pinned between her teeth. And her hand is moving between her legs. I can see it clear as day. With the exception of a few ripples her movement is making, the water is like glass.

The sound registers. It’s Chloe’s soft moan while her hand vigorously rubs her clit. Oh, fuck.

I should leave. Turn around and close the door. But my legs aren’t functioning. My eyes are in control of my body and they are taking in everything. The way Chloe’s hard, pink nipples break the surface of the water. Her wet hair floating over her shoulders, her neck exposed as she arches up toward the ceiling, her forehead wrinkling in focused concentration bordering on pleasure. The red polish on the toes that are curling around the edge of the tub. Fuck. There’s no way I’ll be able to get this image out of my brain. I’ll play it over and over again until I can close my eyes and sketch it in detail.

My conscience wakes up at the same time Chloe’s eyes fly open. We stare at each other.

“Barrett! What are you doing?!” she screams, water splashing everywhere as she flails about. She pulls an earbud from her ear, then scrambles to sit and hug her legs to her chest, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Don’t you knock?”

“Yes. Multiple times. You didn’t answer and I was worried you were hurt.” I clear my parched throat. “I thought with your head you got dizzy or something.”

“Oh.” Her voice is small. “Sorry. I lost track of time. I was listening to music.”

Among other things.

Now that I know she’s okay, my irritation is back.

“You’re late for dinner.”

“Okay. I’m coming.” I didn’t think it was possible for Chloe’s blush to get any deeper, but the realization of her words turns her skin crimson. “I mean, I’ll be there. Soon.”