'You need to sleep.'
'I want you to finish what you started in the office.' There's fire in her eyes. Pure, possessive fire. I smile on the inside. But, and it pains me to say it, she needs rest. I'm taking too much out of her. 'Bed.'
She gazes at me as we slowly take the stairs, too many wicked intentions spilling from the depths of her dark eyes. 'I want a bath.'
'Jesus, Roseanne, are you trying to finish me off?' Wet, slippery skin won't help my cause.
On a little chuckle, her head meets my shoulder, and I notice her steps becoming more labored as we reach the top of the stairs. 'You can scrub my back.'
'You're evil.' Entering the bathroom, I eye the huge marble bath like I hate it. She'll be lost in there all alone. Maybe I could join her, because I could easily get away with not touching her if I stay way on the other side.
'It's massive.' She breaks away from me and starts drawing herself a bath, picking up a bottle of bubble bath from the side and taking it to her nose, inhaling before adding a massive dose to the running water.
'We like having baths.' I move across to the cream crushed-velvet chair that sits in the corner and put myself in it. 'You picked the tub.'
She takes in the mammoth thing, humming to herself. 'It's very me.'
'It's very me, too, especially when you're in it.'
She keeps her eyes on the filling bath. 'So you're just going to sit there and watch me?' She slowly pulls her sundress over her head and takes her underwear off.
Fuck. Me.
I press myself into the back of the chair in an attempt to stop from shooting up and tackling her to the floor. She's playing games. 'Roseanne, don't tease me.'
With her chin on her shoulder, she coyly glances over at me. It's wonderful to see my temptress showing signs of returning to her former glory. Yet it's agony that I can't utilize it to its fullest. 'I want you to have a bath with me.'
'I don't trust myself.'
'Didn't bother you last night.'
I scrub my palms down my face, hanging on to my resistance. She wants me. 'You're overdoing it.'
'I feel fine.' Her brown eyes, shimmering and bright, reinforce her claim, and the sense of satisfaction is unreal, but . . . still.
I shake my head since my mouth refuses to decline, and fold my arms over my chest.
'Suit yourself.' She shrugs her naked shoulders and steps into the tub as it continues to fill.
I'm not happy. But I just can't deprive myself of the pleasure of looking at her. Admiring her. Thinking about how crazily I love her. So fucking much. Even now, when she's not quite fully mobile, her moves are graceful. She carries herself with a subtle power that has awed me since the day she wandered into my office. She is, quite simply, the most enthralling person I've ever encountered. And she's mine. Beautiful and elegant, with a sprinkling of sass. My head tilts in silent contemplation. A sprinkling of sass? Not if you consider her potty mouth. Then I'm smiling, because I know that potty mouth is enhanced by me. Ironic, really. I'm the catalyst for her foul language – the language that drives me to distraction.
My mind continues to wander as I watch her swishing the water with her feet to build the bubbles. Last night was beyond beautiful. We came together like we'd never been apart, and as she stared up at me while I lazily rocked into her, I knew she felt the overwhelming connection. Maybe I'd hoped our lovemaking would dislodge whatever's holding back her memories, but I didn't dwell on the fact that it didn't. I was too blindsided to care in that moment.
