Chapter 101: Wet Clothes

Cecilia

"The scotch helped," he continued, his eyes fixed on some point past my shoulder, like he couldn't quite meet my gaze while saying this. "You know? The missing you. The wanting you. All of it. I'd sit here in the dark and drink and let myself hurt because at least that was something. At least that was real."

I felt tears prick at my eyes and blinked them back, my hands coming up to cup his face, forcing him to look at me. "I'm here now," I said fiercely. "I'm here and I'm not leaving and you don't have to hurt anymore."

"I know." His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer until I was practically in his lap, the wet fabric of my clothes a barrier between us that suddenly felt unbearable. "But sometimes I still can't quite believe it. That you're real. That you came back. That you chose me."

"Always you," I whispered, and kissed him again, pouring everything I felt into it—all my love and desire and the bone-deep certainty that this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

When we broke apart this time, Arthur's eyes had cleared, the shadow of old pain replaced by something warmer, more present. He reached past me for the decanter on the tray.

"Here," he said, pressing the crystal glass into my hands. "Since you went to all the trouble of bringing it, the least you can do is help me drink it."

I laughed despite the emotion still thick in my throat. "Is that an order, Mr. Winston?"

"It's a request," he corrected, his lips quirking. "From your devoted fiancé who just wants to relax with the woman he loves."

"Well, when you put it like that." I shifted in the water, trying to find a comfortable position, which was difficult considering I was still fully clothed and the fabric kept trying to float up around me in ways that were more awkward than sexy.

Arthur watched me struggle for a moment, amusement dancing in his eyes, before he took pity on me and helped me maneuver until I was settled more or less on his lap, the water lapping at our waists, my soaked clothes clinging to every curve in a way that made his eyes darken all over again.

"Better?" he asked, his voice slightly strained.

"Much." I poured scotch into the glass, the amber liquid glinting in the candlelight, then held it up to his lips. "Open up."

He obeyed with a small smile, his eyes never leaving mine as I tipped the glass and let him drink. I watched his throat work as he swallowed, watched the way his eyes fluttered closed briefly in appreciation of the expensive scotch, and felt heat pool low in my belly at the intimacy of it all.

When he'd had enough, I started to pull the glass away, but his hand shot out and caught my wrist, keeping me in place.

"My turn," he said, and before I could ask what he meant, he'd taken the glass from my hand and downed the rest of the scotch in one smooth swallow.

Then his free hand was in my hair, pulling me toward him, and his mouth was on mine again—but this time it was different.

This time I could taste the scotch on his tongue as he kissed me deep and thorough, could feel the burn of it as he quite literally fed it to me mouth-to-mouth, the alcohol and the heat of his kiss combining into something that made my head spin and my body melt against his.

I swallowed reflexively, the scotch burning a pleasant path down my throat, and Arthur made a low sound of approval against my lips before kissing me again, slower this time, savoring.

"That's cheating," I managed when we finally broke apart, my voice breathy and my face flushed with more than just the heat of the bath.

"That's creative problem-solving," he corrected, setting the empty glass aside without looking, his hands returning to my waist to hold me steady on his lap. "Besides, you looked like you could use a drink. You've been working hard all evening."

"Playing piano badly is hardly work," I said, but I was smiling, my hands tracing idle patterns on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm.

"It sounded beautiful to me." His voice was soft, sincere. "Everything you do is beautiful to me."

The words should have sounded like a line—too smooth, too perfect. But coming from Arthur, who so rarely spoke his feelings aloud, they landed with the weight of absolute truth, and I felt my throat tighten with emotion all over again.

He pulled me closer, until there was no space left between us, until I could feel every hard plane of his body through my soaked clothes. "Now, about these wet clothes you're still wearing..."

"What about them?" I asked innocently, even as I felt his hands slide under my shirt again, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine.

"They need to come off." His voice had dropped to that low register that always made my stomach flip. "Immediately."

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely." His hands found the hem of my shirt and started pulling it up, slow and deliberate. "It's a safety hazard, really. You could catch cold."

"In a hot bath?" I raised an eyebrow even as I lifted my arms to help him remove the shirt. "That seems unlikely."

"Better safe than sorry," he said solemnly, though his eyes were anything but serious as he took in the sight of me in just my bra and soaked jeans, the wet fabric clinging to every curve.

And then he was kissing me again, and I stopped thinking about anything except the feel of his hands on my skin, the taste of scotch on his tongue, the way the candlelight flickered across the water and made everything feel soft and dreamlike and perfect.

The wet jeans were more difficult to remove—they clung stubbornly to my legs, heavy with water, and we both ended up laughing as we struggled with the zipper and the button, water sloshing over the sides of the tub with every movement.

"This is not as sexy as I imagined," I admitted, finally managing to kick the jeans off and send them sailing across the bathroom to land in a sodden heap on the floor.

"I don't know." Arthur's eyes traveled over me appreciatively, taking in the matching black lace underwear that was all that remained. "I'm finding it pretty damn sexy."

Heat flooded through me at the hunger in his voice, and I shifted on his lap, feeling him hard and ready beneath me, separated only by the thin barrier of my underwear and the water between us.