Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“And you.” Scanning my face, she tilts her head. “Steam room?”
I laugh out loud, rubbing at my cheeks. “Yes.” Jesus Christ, how red and sweaty am I? “Lots of steam.”
“It’s so relaxing, don’t you think?”
I hum, batting off flashbacks coming at me from all directions. All Jude. I’m still tingling between my legs. Still pulsating. Callie pats the stand on the bath, and I pull the robe in around my thighs and place my feet where indicated, making sure I keep my legs closed. What the bloody hell has he done with my knickers?
She inspects my toes and reaches for the tap on the mini bath, flipping on the water and holding her hand beneath the flow to check the temperature. “What colour are you feeling today, Amelia?” She holds up two bottles, and I look between them with a furrowed brow.
“Those are my options?” I ask, pointing to one. “Nude and . . .” I indicate the other. “Nude?”
“Both complement your skin tone wonderfully.”
“What’s my skin tone?”
“Ummm . . .” She scans what she can see of my skin. “Fleshy?”
My frown deepens, my mind going into overdrive. Oh my God, did he . . . ? “Callie, did someone choose a colour for me?”
“Oh no, I just thought that you looked like a nude kind of woman.” She grins, all toothy.
“You’ve never seen me before I walked through that door.”
Her eyes drop, her fluster growing rapidly as she flips the tap off.
“Callie,” I say again, this time quiet. “Did someone pick this colour for me?”
“Yes, yes, okay, Mr. Harrison may have stopped by and influenced the choices.”
He’s dictating what nail polish I should wear? I huff and scan the row of polishes on the glass shelf behind Callie. “I think I’d like that one. Third in from the right.”
“Seafoam?”
“Yes.” I nod. I’ve never in my life chosen any shade of blue or green polish. “Perfect.” It reminds me of Jude’s eyes. I frown to myself.
“But . . .”
“It’s perfect,” I say again, thinking. I am way out of my depth. So no more games? Something tells me Jude Harrison is having a lot of fun. But what happens when the game ends? Who wins? I wince at the pang of pain that flares in my chest, automatically reaching up and rubbing into my robe. What the hell is that?
He chose nude polish. Isn’t he the one who’s gone on about being more . . . loose? As in adventurous. I laugh under my breath and close my eyes, letting Callie at me. Here I am. My God, what on earth am I doing? This isn’t me, bending to a man’s will, begging for him, dreaming of him, rendered useless by him. Jude Harrison has brought out a side of me I never knew existed. Submissive. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with it. Except . . . I sigh. I can appreciate the step out of my everyday life, escaping expectation and letting someone lead.
In my darkness, I think in circles, going over the same things again and again, as if something new might pop up and offer a different take. It doesn’t. I keep coming back to the same conclusion.
I love how he so easily wipes my mind of everything except the moment I’m in with him—whether it be a moment of frustration, desire, or anger. I love how he consumes my thoughts. I love how he so easily distracts me from work, giving me momentary—and needed—freedom from the pressure I place on myself. It’s like handing the reins of a part of my life over to someone else and letting them steer me for a while. Because when I surrender to him, I’m light. Free. Happy to go wherever he takes me.
That’s not so bad, is it?
I open my eyes and see Callie has finished soaking my feet and massaging a foot scrub into them, and is now painting my toes. I smile at the lovely bluey-green shade as she places a UV lamp over my right foot to set the gel polish before starting on my left foot.
“Same for your fingers?” she asks, not looking up.
I look down at my perfectly neat coral nails. “I think so.”
The door knocks, and Callie calls out for whoever it is to come in. I wilt in the chair when it opens, revealing Jude, his hair now perfectly back in place and tucked behind his ears. I breathe in, feeling the scratchiness of his facial hair on the inside of my thighs. Where’s my knickers?
The corner of his mouth lifts in the semblance of a knowing smile as he steps into the room. He’s still in those faded jeans he pulled on before walking out of treatment room four—what a treatment—but he’s added a casual white linen button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled up. I mentally faint on the spot.