Snore.
“And if I had a bath while you slept. Wouldthatbe weird?”
Snore.
“You’re such a good host.” She patted his head, rearranging his damp hair. Then she found a paper and pen and left a note, in case he woke and heard someone in his bathroom.
That accomplished, she started the bathwater. The tub was huge, and in reaching for the taps, she hit the soap and knocked it in. As she fumbled for it, a familiar scent filled the room.
Orange and cloves.
Heat flooded through her, and an image formed in the steam. Mason, in the tub, lying back, naked—
Enough of that.
She peeled off her still-wet dress and caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror.
Not bad, right? She wasn’t Camille, but she looked pretty good for thirty-six. Especially through a layer of steam. She laughed softly to herself. No, she wasn’t playing the age game. She looked just fine.
Fine enough to catch the eye of—
Enough.
She lifted one leg over the tub and lowered herself in, hissing with pleasure as the hot water washed over her clammy skin. She sunk down and moaned softly. This feltsogood.
A steaming hot bath after bitter November rain. A bath that smelled of oranges and cloves. A bath that had last seen Mason Moretti, not just shirtless, but naked, sinking into this same tub.
A tub that was big enough for two. Even if one was Mason Moretti.
Enou—
She stopped mid-rebuke and tilted her head, considering. Was there anything wrong with going there? She was a romance novelist after all. Consider it research.
She smiled and, as she sunk deeper into the tub, she let her imagination run wild.
MASON
That night, Mason had the weirdest dreams. He remembered getting into the taxi—after Gemma insisted on buying a bottle of water from the bar, which she made him drink on the way to his condo. He remembered, too, that he’d tried to give the cabbie her address, but she wanted to make sure he got up to his place safely, which he certainly wasn’t going to argue with.
The rest was flashes. Gemma pulling him from the cab. Himforgetting how to get in the building front door, where the elevator was, what the code was for his condo door… There’d been a lot of forgetting, and a lot of “Come on, it’s just a few more steps, you can do it,” Gemma propping him up and encouraging him like a skating instructor with a toddler.
Then the world went blank, and he got the weird dreams instead. Gemma talking to him. Coaxing him. Pulling. Wheedling. And finally, undressing him, which had been sexy as hell.
He woke on the couch to find he had indeed been undressed. Well, his shirt was off, at least. He’d been covered up, which was disappointing, but also sweet and…
He stretched, rolling his back up off the sofa. His mouth felt like something died in it, but there were no signs of a hangover. That’d be why Gemma made him drink the water. At the time, he’d been too fuzzy headed to figure it out and only drank because she told him to.
He stretched again, and his hand hit a paper on the console table. He picked it up and blinked against the morning gloom as his eyes focused.
Mason,
Advance warning that I’m still here, so please don’t take a swing at the stranger sleeping on your recliner. I didn’t feel right leaving you alone when you were passed out. If you wake up first, just give me a kick and send me on my way.
Gem
Mason lifted his head and blinked as he saw that Gemma was indeed on his recliner. How the hell did he miss that? He grinned as he sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees while he considered the situation.
The situation being that Gemma Stanton was asleep in his condo. Which was absolutely not a problem, and he was absolutelynotsending her on her way. Now, what he needed to consider was how to make sure she didn’t wake up and head straight out the door.
