Watch Over Me (Danvers #7)(11)
“Oh crap, sorry.” Gwen moved suddenly to her knees to give him some room, which was a big mistake in a slippery bathtub. She had just enough time to squeak out, “Yikes,” before her knees went out from under her and the silky water engulfed her. Before she could panic, hands were pulling her up and he was gently pressing a towel against her face.
“Baby, are you okay?” Dominic asked, sounding concerned. “Shit, I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you need to get out?”
“No, no,” she stammered as she pushed her damp hair out of her face. Dominic kept a hand on her shoulder while he stepped in carefully behind her before pulling her gingerly between his legs. She sighed against him before letting a giggle escape. “Oh, dear Lord, that was so ugly, wasn’t it? I think Justin Timberlake can relax because there’s no way I’m ever ‘bringing sexy back,’ ugh.”
His chest vibrated against her back as he laughed along with her. “It was quite a sight, but I disagree with the sexy part. You don’t need to bring it back, babe, because it never left.”
“You’re pretty sexy yourself,” she joked, running a hand down his thigh. “I mean, where did you get a body like this? I know you run because I see you when you’re coming back all hot and sweaty. But, you’ve also got serious muscles so you must spend a lot of time at the gym.”
Chill bumps covered her body as he lazily moved her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck. “We have a workout room at the office that we use in the mornings. It’s easier to get it out of the way early instead of waiting until the evening. Running is just something I enjoy doing to de-stress. How about you? You’re tight in all of the right places so you obviously exercise.”
Gwen shifted around nervously, not wanting to answer his question. There was no way a hard-core fitness buff would be impressed with her brand of exercise. He would probably laugh her right out of the bath. “I . . . um . . . take classes at the gym next to the office.”
“What kind of classes?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“Er . . . water classes,” she replied, still trying to keep her answer short.
“You mean like swimming?”
“Well . . . not quite.” Good grief, the man was like a drill sergeant. Couldn’t he just let it go?
He turned her sideways until he could look at her and asked, “If you’re not swimming, then what kind of water classes could you be taking?”
“Senior Swingers, okay? Are you happy now?”
“Senior Swingers?” Dominic parroted as if testing out the words on his tongue. “What’s that?”
“It’s a water class for active seniors. We do jazz exercise, Zumba, water ballet, and water spinning. It’s completely awesome,” she finished defensively.
He studied her for a moment before saying hesitantly, “You know you’re not a senior, don’t you?”
“Duh,” she snorted, “of course I do. I just thought it would be fun to join a gym and all of the other classes are full of nothing but a bunch of Lycra-wearing Barbie dolls who look down on those of us who are less than . . . coordinated. I always felt so self-conscious that I found myself not wanting to go. One day in the locker room, I met a nice lady named Marion who was sitting next to me on the bench in a swimsuit. She was really friendly and urged me to bring my suit the next evening and take a class with her. Well, I did and I loved it. Yes, I’m the youngest one in the class, but everyone is so friendly that I look forward to going. And . . . I never feel bad about wearing a swimsuit.”
Gwen hadn’t realized how worked up she had become until he rubbed her arms, instantly calming her. The man probably thought she was a nut-job after that rant. She had not meant to give out so much information, but after feeling like some of the women were so judgmental at the gym, she got easily riled over it.
“Baby, I think it’s great,” he said earnestly. “It sounds as if you’ve found a group of friends that you really enjoy spending time with. Who cares what their ages are? I’ve been a member of some health clubs before where I wasn’t comfortable and I didn’t go for long. As for other women not treating you well—honey, it’s just pure jealousy. You’re a beautiful woman with a body that men dream of. You have curves where they’re supposed to be. Contrary to popular opinion, most guys want a woman to look like a woman, not a stick-figure drawing. I’m not an artistic man, but I could write poetry about your ass. It makes me weak in the knees and hard in the cock. Never . . . ever . . . even consider getting rid of it.”
This man was driving her crazy. Every word that came from his mouth was more perfect than the last. Both her head and her heart were ready to explode from the abundance of compliments that he bestowed on her, and she didn’t think he was the type to spout meaningless flattery. Heck, what would be the point; she was already having sex with him. She was almost sure that he meant everything that he was saying. He liked her body just as it was and heaven knows she loved his. Actually, she wanted to love it some more, like right now, and she had noticed how he had thickened in the last few moments as well. “Dominic?”
“Hmmm?” he drawled against the top of her head.
“Could you take me to bed, like immediately?”
“Tired, babe?” he asked as he began to release her.