I watch him every moment, absently aware that it could be the last. It’s like time slows down. I see his cocky smile, the way his cheeks fold beside his mouth when he gives it. I can almost feel the raspiness of his beard on my neck just by watching him.
He pulls at the bull rope, looking hypnotized, and I try to slip into that too.
And then he does something he’s never done. He peeks up at me from beneath the brim of his hat, like he knew exactly where I was sitting.
He winks at me.
And then he nods, and the gates fly open.
“You were so close.”
The rippling of water sounds as Rhett swipes a facecloth over my back. This shitty hotel bathtub is too small for the two of us, but we’re packed into it anyway. He told me if I’m going to continue to force him to take Epsom salt baths that I have to come in with him.
So here I am, seated between his legs in the hottest, smallest bath known to man.
While Rhett Eaton washes me. And kisses me.
This is how I want to go.
“Ah, if I’m going to lose to someone, I’d have it be Theo. Give him a year or two, and he’ll be winning left and right.”
“So, like . . . a newer, shinier version of you?” I tease, but it ends in a gasp when he wraps my hair around his fist and gives it a tug.
“Watch that pretty little mouth, Summer,” he murmurs against my ear.
His erection presses against my back, but we’ve mostly ignored that in favor of just soaking for a bit.
“Or what?” My lips tip up as I glance over my shoulder, hoping to egg him on.
He chuckles, making goosebumps race over my flushed skin. “Or nothing. I’m out of condoms.”
“I don’t know if they taught you this at cowboy school, but I can’t get pregnant from giving blowjobs.”
He reaches around and roughly squeezes one of my breasts as he pulls me back against him. “Jesus, woman. The things that come out of your mouth sometimes.”
I giggle and soften against him. “Fine. Fine. You started it.”
“Started what?”
“This.”
I feel the rumble in his chest against my shoulders. “I did not.”
“You did. You kissed me first,” I joke.
“Huh. I thought you said that meant nothing.” He trails the washcloth over my arms now.
I close my eyes and sigh. I did say that. And at the time I meant it, or at least I wanted to. “I needed it to mean nothing so I could maintain some sense of professionalism.” It’s a painfully honest statement, and there’s a part of me that wishes I could take it back.
But for as much as Rhett and I rib each other, I don’t think he takes me lightly. Men who take a woman lightly don’t look at a woman the way Rhett looks at me.
That look could be all in my head.
Maybe I’m unraveling over a look that doesn’t even exist.
“Is taking Epsom salt baths with your clients something they teach you at law school?” His chest shakes under the strain of trying not to laugh at his own joke. Dork.
I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Rhett.”
He presses a kiss to the crown of my head. I’m pretty sure just to keep himself from laughing.
“It’s not funny. I don’t know what we’re doing here. And I’ve spent years in school and tens of thousands of dollars on it to do this job. This is . . . I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I think you do. I think you’re doing what you want for the first time in your life and that’s scary for you.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“I think you don’t need to worry about if I’m a client or not. I think that has nothing to do with what’s between you and me.”
“It’s the perception—” I try to say, but he interrupts me.
“What perception? Have you done this before? You planning to do it more in the future? Or does what’s happened between us have nothing at all to do with what either of us do for work? Do you think if we’d met under different circumstances, it would be different?”
“You might have been less of a growly prick to me,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from what feels like something bigger than what I’m ready to face.
“I’m serious, Summer. I’m not sure why you keep talking about our jobs like it matters. We’re not doing anything wrong. I think Doctor Douche has you scared that there’s something shameful about being with another person. That you need to hide something you don’t.”
Well, shit. Is he right? I flip through the mental Rolodex of my past relationships.
I’ve never taken guys out with me. Never introduced them to my family. Once Willa straight out asked me if I was gay before assuring me she’d be cool with that.
Maybe the early input of thinking I needed to hide a relationship with genuine feelings made me believe that was true.
“I . . . well . . . fuck.”
He squeezes me and nuzzles against the back of my head. “I’ve always done whatever I want. Never been big on what other people think I should be doing. I imagine a person somewhere in between the two of us would be ideal, because I’ve probably burned a few bridges along the way.”
I snort at that. “You’re probably not wrong. I—” I start to protest, but he cuts me off.
“What if you stopped worrying about everything that could go wrong and just let yourself enjoy how right this feels?”
He presses a wet kiss to my back and my body comes alive as his calloused palms slip over my soapy skin in the most sensual way. My head tips back and I sigh at the feel of him playing my body with such finesse.
It does feel right.
“I’ll burn more bridges to take a kick at the can with you, Summer. Give me a shot.”
My lashes open and close rapidly. My heart is flipping over something that my brain can’t quite process. My can feels thoroughly kicked by everything he’s just said. My tongue is also thoroughly tied.
Rhett just leaves it, though, carrying on. “You said once that you’d become a personal trainer?”
I go still. Did I mention that? “I don’t remember that.”
“I do. I read between the lines. I’ve seen you work out. I’ve seen how hard you work and how reliable you are. If you could do anything as a job, would it be what you’re doing right now? What Kip does?”
I roll my lips together, grateful that I don’t have to face anyone right now. “Probably not.” My voice cracks when I confess it.
“Then why do you do it? Why keep up the charade?”
I exhale. “It’s not . . . it’s not a charade. It’s just, I enjoy seeing my dad happy. I know how proud he is of me. I know he likes having me at the office with him even though he acts like a psycho prick sometimes. He fractured his family to keep me. He gave up so much, and when I got sick, he dropped everything to be with me every day. I just feel like living up to some of those things for him is the least I can do, you know? I just feel like . . . God, this sounds terrible to say, but I feel like if it wasn’t for me, his life would be so much easier. And if I can help him by being a part of the business he’s spent his life building, if I can carry that on for him, well, that’s the least I can do to repay him.”
Rhett doesn’t respond. He just keeps stroking my arm. “I can’t speak for Kip, only the way he’s talked about you and your sister over the years in passing. And he may be a psycho prick, but he doesn’t strike me as the type of man who expects repayment for time spent with his daughter.”
My eyes sting, and I nod. There’s a little voice at the back of my people-pleasing head that’s screaming yes! I think I know deep down that Rhett is right, but facing that also means facing that I’ve spent the last several years of my life relentlessly chasing a dream that isn’t actually my own.
A breath whooshes out of me and I drop my chin to my chest, squeezing my eyes together tight, wanting to put that wall back up in my mind that Rhett just came crashing through.
This time, he kisses the back of my neck, lips moving against my wet skin as he whispers, “Let’s go to bed.”
He stands behind me, gathering our towels, while I sit in the draining tub, watching the water swirl in a cyclone. A perfect reflection of how I’m currently feeling inside.
Shaken up. Spinning. Thoroughly not myself and yet, more myself than I’ve ever felt.
“Summer?”
When I glance up at Rhett, in all his rugged glory, the tips of his long hair wet and dripping over his toned shoulders, a shiver runs down my spine. He’s holding a towel open for me, and all I want to do is go to him.
So, I do. I stand, feeling the water slip off me like a skin I’ve shed. Like Rhett somehow scrubbed loose memories and hang-ups with that washcloth. When I step out of the tub, I expect him to drop his gaze over my body, but he takes a deep dive into my eyes.
I don’t know why I didn’t expect him to do that. He’s been nothing short of respectful. Is it the reputation? His look? The toe-curling things he says?