We just stared at each other.
He looked away first, glancing at the door. Obviously unhappy. My fingers itched to stoke away the furrows in his brow. To give him comfort and take the same. I’d been lucky with the Chris thing. The way it had come apart, I’d been almost ecstatic. To have avoided falling into his evil marital clasp was wonderful. There’d been anger and embarrassment too. Lots of emotions clouding the scene. But a hell of a lot less heartache than there should have been. Then there likely would be with Vaughan.
“I’ll give you your privacy,” he said, still not moving.
“We could not have sex.”
His brows rose.
“And not talk,” I proposed. “Just drink our beers and hang out together. If you want?”
He blinked. “Sure. We could do that.”
“Okay.”
“Do you mind if I get in?” He nodded to the tub.
“Both of us naked in a tub?” Most dubious.
“Right.” He winced. “Might make it a little hard on the no-sex thing.”
“Hard. Haha.”
A smile. He rose and started toeing off his shoes, pulling off his socks. Basically, not following the recently reached agreement. “I have the answer.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Pull the plug, let some of the water out.” With no further warning, he climbed into the tub still dressed in jeans and tee. Not quite normal.
“Vaughan!” I yanked out the plug before we flooded the damn house. “What are you doing?”
“Hanging out with you. Not having sex.” The man stood, waiting for the water level to decrease. After a minute, he crouched down behind me, long legs pressing against my back. “Babe, scoot forward a little.”
“Shit.” I did as told. “But your clothes?”
“They’re due for a wash.”
I snorted. “I see. Great way to save water.”
“Environmental warrior. That’s me. This is a bit of a tight squeeze. Hang on.” His arm went around my middle for as long as it took to pull me back and up. An easy enough thing to do in the water. Legs stretched out beneath me and I sat on a rough lap. Wet denim made for about as comfortable a seat as you’d imagine. At least I wasn’t wearing it. Could you imagine the chafing?
I reinserted the bath plug before we lost all of the water. “Yeah, this doesn’t feel sexual at all. Me sitting naked on your lap, bathing by candlelight.”
“God, you’ve got a dirty mind.”
I gave him a look over my shoulder. Hopefully it conveyed my complete lack of trust.
“I respect your wishes, Lydia. Nothing’s going to happen.” Eyes wide and innocent, he drank his beer.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Shh. You didn’t want to talk.”
Asshole.
Spine straight, I sat there, sipping my drink. True to his word, nothing was said, no move was made. Gradually, I began to relax. I blame the shadows cast by the candles. Those flickering flames lulled me. Eventually, I rested my back against his wet-shirted front, got comfortable.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier,” he whispered.
“Again.”
“Yeah.” A heavy sigh. “Again.”
“One day, maybe, you might want to talk to someone about all of this. Your parents passing…”
Silence. Lots and lots of silence. I prepared myself for the boom. More yelling and swearing, et cetera. He’d made it perfectly plain that he didn’t wish to discuss these sorts of things. Yet there I went meddling, diving right back in where my nose did not belong. What an idiot good intentions made of you. Because the thought of him carrying this pain around for the rest of his life hurt. It hurt bad.
So yeah, I waited.
Instead of rage, however, he kissed the side of my face. It was with closed lips. Chaste. Tears welled in my eyes, my breath hitching. Stupid heart.
“Talk to me,” I said.
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Tell me a story.”
“All right.” He cleared his throat, his chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm against my back. Pity, being with him always felt so right. My life would be far safer, more straightforward, if I’d been able to retain some semblance of indifference. What had happened to all the cold hard lessons care of my parents? It seemed like ever since I’d seen the home porn of Chris and Paul going at it, something inside of me had come loose. It definitely wasn’t desire. Closer to crazy, if anything.
“Once upon a time,” he began, voice low and measured. “There was a princess. A beautiful, occasionally annoying princess.”
“What was her name?”
“Ah, Notlydia.”
I frowned. “Her name is Notlydia?”
“You wanted a story, I’m giving you one. Shut up.”
“Whatever.”
An even heavier sigh from the man. “Anyhoo, Notlydia was all set up to marry this prince. We’ll call him Prince Bag of Dicks.”
“Works for me.”
“But on the day of her wedding, when she was wearing this sweet dress that served her tits up like they were on a fucking platter—”
“Is this an R-rated story?”
“Please,” he said, sliding an arm around my bare waist. And I let him. “R is for rubbish. If you don’t get to see any penetration then you’re wasting your time. This is XXX.”