The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,77
neck. Her human life raft.
“It is.” He kissed her again.
Yet another way he’d push her out of her comfort zone. No more shrouding her scars under blankets and the cover of darkness. Being naked in a tub would fully expose them. He’d see them turn redder the longer they soaked in hot water. Ugly reminders of lifelong limitations and pain.
“Trust me,” he urged. “There’s nothing you need to hide from me.”
She nodded her consent even as she trembled from the thought. Logan rose, keeping her in his arms and carrying her up the stairs to her room.
While Claire undressed and concealed herself with her robe, Logan went to the bathroom. She found him filling the tub with steaming water and lavender bath salts. He’d even stolen a candle from Steffi’s old room and lit it on the vanity. Its flickering light bounced off the mirror and reflected little beams of euphoria throughout the room.
Her eyes stung from emotional overload. Here she was—with Logan. And there he was, being romantic and sexy . . . all for her.
Lacking any self-consciousness whatsoever, he dropped his clothes to the ground and stepped into the tub before gesturing for her to join him.
She ogled his sinewy perfection while gripping the knot of her robe. The physical disparity between them was wider than the Gulf of Mexico. Yet she’d set this up, determined to break out of her shell. To try a new way. To prove to herself and others that she didn’t need to be coddled or pitied.
Be bold enough to meet him on his terms.
With trembling hands, she untied her robe. It drifted to the ground without a sound, leaving her standing in the middle of the bathroom, naked. She kept her hand by her side instead of using it to shield the scars around her hip—a small but surprisingly proud moment.
He sat and stretched out his legs, his gaze roaming her entire body, lingering a moment on her breasts.
“Come here, beautiful.” He reached out one arm.
She stepped into the silky, hot water and laid her back against his chest. Lavender-scented steam calmed her nerves, as did the flickering candlelight.
He handed her one wineglass while keeping hold of his own. Dipping his free hand beneath the surface of the water, he then caressed her abdomen while planting kisses on her neck between sips of wine.
The only sounds in the bathroom were the sloshing water and a low hum in her throat. It felt luxurious and brazen to sit in his lap while he explored her body in the scented, soft water. Anticipation pooled low in her abdomen, making her squirm.
When he emptied his glass, he set it on the floor and she followed suit. In no time, his hands stroked her thighs until his fingers found her center. She arched her back, letting her head fall against his shoulder, and nibbled on his ear while raising her hands overhead to drag through his hair.
Logan.
The leaky faucet marked time with its slow drip. Water spilled over the edge of the tub as their bodies rocked together. Once again she was making love with Logan. “Love.” That word threaded through her thoughts and heart like a chain stitch, but she kept it to herself.
Whether the lavender calmed her or she’d truly come to accept the limitations of this relationship, she wasn’t sure—nor did she care. Not while inside their steamy, candlelit cocoon. Her full heart was enough for now.
A few mornings later, Logan waltzed into Arcadia’s kitchen, whistling, and grabbed a yogurt from the refrigerator. “Morning, Mom.”
From the table where she sat with a notepad, she removed her glasses and twined her arms behind her back for a quick stretch. “Where are you rolling in from, my darling son?”
“Here and there.” Claire had asked him to be discreet for now. He peeled back the foil top and tossed it in the trash. “Nothing to report.”
One of her perfect brows shot up. “I doubt that. You do have a nice spring in your step, though, so maybe I’ll just leave well enough alone.”
“Thank you.” He glanced around before digging his spoon into the cup. “Where’s Peyton?”
“Upstairs.”
He debated his plan to help Claire for a millisecond. “Dad?”
“Why?” His mom stared at him, her mouth at half gape.
He spooned another bite, averting her gaze. “I want to talk to him.”
“Really?” She put her glasses on and peered at him more closely. “You never want to be in the same room with him if you can avoid it.”