Filthy Foreign Exchange(46)

“You can, um…go now,” I try to say as politely as possible.

Those full lips of his curl slowly, the resulting sexy smile setting a tone I don’t think I’ll be able to resist for very long.

“I have a better idea, if I may?”

“What?” I ask quickly and quietly, past suddenly dry lips and a racing pulse.

“I thought I could stay…keep you company? If you were to wear that little pink bikini you have, anyway.” He arches one brow, his eyes alive with mischief. “You wouldn’t be lonely, and I’d finally get to see you in something pink. Seems a win-win to me.”

“Did you go through my drawers again?” I ask calmly, far too engrossed in this prelude to be offended.

“No, I did a thorough check the first time. But you no longer seem too upset at the thought that I might have.” He grins. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“Hell if I know,” I lie, shrugging in time with his hearty laugh. “Okay, my bath’s getting cold. You can sit on the counter and talk to me, while I wear a bathing suit, but you are not getting in with me. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“My brother would snap you like a twig if he knew about this,” I mutter as I head for my dresser.

“Let’s not tell him then, shall we?”

“Ya think?” I snort, wincing at the unladylike sound. “Shut the door while I change.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Nope, total lie—yes I can.

I just need to justify it in my head. I won’t be naked, and honestly, some of my performance outfits are far more revealing than a bikini—especially if you consider how I’m moving my body while wearing them.

And we still have quite a while before my parents get home; Sammy will draw out their stay as long as possible, and my mom will help his cause, talking with the other mothers. This will be no different than if Kingston and I had a conversation while going swimming together.

There. It’s now perfectly placed on a mental shelf of legitimate, innocent rationalization.

I walk back into the bathroom. If Kingston were a puppy, his tail would be wagging. I can’t help but laugh when he eyes me up and down, then frowns.

“Why are you wearing a robe?” he literally pouts.

“Because I’m not stupid, na?ve—or a tart.” I twirl one finger in the air, signaling him to look the other way. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll—”

“Tell your brother,” he responds as he turns around. “I am more than aware.”

“No.” I throw off the robe and climb quickly into the tub, covering myself with bubbles. “I’ll handle it myself, which is even worse for you. Be afraid…be very afraid. And you can turn back around now.”

He does—so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t sprain something. His gaze flies down to my body immediately, of course.

“Too many bubbles?” I tease.

A low rumble sounds in his chest, and I throw back my head and laugh. He’s just so…I can’t explain it, but I don’t think him a pervert. More adorably aggravated.

“So, you wanted to keep me company. I assumed that would entail delightful conversation.” I rest my head against the tub ledge and close my eyes. “Wow me, Mr. Hawthorne.”

When he doesn’t say anything after several long seconds, I crack one eye open and peer in his direction. He’s staring at me, seemingly dazed.

“No chance of this many bubbles dissolving anytime soon,” I say through a snicker, “so you might as well start talking.”

“I was just pondering.” He raises his eyes to snare my own, a flirtiness playing on his mouth. “Is this the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done, Echo?”

“Yes,” I answer faintly. But I don’t move, terrified to disrupt even a single bubble.

“I figured as much.” He nods. “How does it feel?”

A simple “naughty” in reply would disappoint us both, so I take a deep breath and form my response on the heavy exhale.

“Vulnerable, but exhilarating—not like you’re thinking, though.” I grin. “I’m excited that you turned out to be decent and we’re friends…comfortable around each other. I could’ve been stuck sharing a bathroom with some jerk. But I like you, Kingston. You’re a good guy. And I’m rarely wrong about people.”

“You flatter me, and give me far too much credit.” A shadow moves over his face, and his shoulders slump. “I’m not what you think.”

I laugh. “Kingston, I figured out you’re not really interested in ever becoming a priest a long time ago.”

He shakes his head and chuckles softly. “I still can’t believe my father wrote that rubbish down. I’m sorry he lied to your family.”

“Don’t be; his lie, not yours. And if it makes you feel any better, I doubt my parents actually bought it, either. My father just chooses to let himself believe it, so he doesn’t have to worry we’re up here taking baths together.” I toss him a clever smirk.

He laughs again, but it’s shallow and short-lived. “My father is a very important man back home—a military attaché. I wasn’t acting very militant…not enough to suit him, anyway.”