Sugarplum (Silk Stocking Inn Book 5) Page 4

  I turned off the water and sank down to hide my nakedness in the bubbles.

  Holt dropped a towel on the floor to sop up the spilled water and give him a dry place to sit. "I'm thinking this might be fun to watch."

  I pushed the bubbles in a mound in front of my breasts. After building a respectable, soapy barrier, Holt leaned forward and blew gently. The bubbles parted, exposing my breasts to his gaze.

  "That's better."

  I could have spent the next few minutes gathering the bubbles again, or if I had any sense, I could have asked him to leave while I finished my bath. But then I had been the one to start it by dropping my robe in front of him. And if I gave it a good long thought, I didn't want him to leave. The heavy duty flirting was the most fun I'd had with a man in a long time.

  Holt lifted his hand over the edge of the tub. With a sly grin, he reached for the dragonfly tattoo I had running along the side of my breast. I held my breath as his fingertip traced the ink. "This is nice. Good detail." His deep voice rolled off the bathroom tile.

  I found myself instinctively lifting my breasts higher, inviting him to touch me. Which he did. His thumb swept around my nipple. It puckered beneath his touch.

  "Beautiful," he said quietly as he lifted his gaze to my face. His thumb continued to draw circles around my nipple. It was the only place of contact, the only place where he touched me, yet I could feel that tiny touch through my entire body. My pussy tingled with the feel of it.

  He reached for the lavender bar of soap sitting on a dish at the end of the tub, but then stopped. "Guess I'm going to have to do something about these sleeves if I'm going to help you with your bath."

  He stood up and looked extra tall standing over the tub. His shadow dimmed the light in the bathroom, and it seemed to pop another idea in his head. He walked to the shelves that held the towels and sundries and pulled out two candles and a book of matches. He set the candles on the counter, but before lighting them, he stopped to roll up his sleeves. Again, he stopped halfway through the task. Instead of rolling up his sleeves, he reached behind his neck and took hold of the sweater. It came off, right along with the t-shirt beneath.

  I grabbed the edge of the tub to steady myself as I gawked at the unbelievable man standing just five feet from me. Every line of muscle was cut perfectly as if he was a drawing or . . . an artist's rendition . . . of the ideal male physique. Just like Ziggy Holt, the character.

  "I'm still trying to decide if you're real." I finally loosened my grip on the tub.

  "Huh, I'm still trying to decide the same thing about you." He lit the candles and turned off the light. Flickering light wavered across the tile and chrome fixtures, bathing the room in shadows.

  A shirtless Holt stepped through the unsteady glow. He knelt down by the tub and picked up the soap. I couldn't stop myself. I had to touch him. I had to assure myself that this was happening. My fingers trailed over his tattoo covered pecs and along the ripples on his abdomen. It seemed he was enjoying it. I was definitely enjoying it.

  "You are real, but you're also unreal, if that makes sense." I lowered my hand back into the water, deciding I'd blathered on long enough.

  "I like the way you reason things, snow angel. Now, close your eyes, sit back and relax."

  I closed my eyes but then opened one, curious to see what he was up to.

  He lifted a brow in a silent reprimand. I shut both eyes again, and after a long deep breath, I allowed myself to relax back against the tub. I was cradled in hot water as I lost myself in the luxury of the bubbles and in the erotic feeling of knowing that Holt was sitting there, right next to the tub, watching me.

  The cool air in the bathroom circled my wet breasts as they rose and fell with each breath. I could feel and hear Holt submerge the soap in the water.

  I pointed without opening my eyes. "There's a washcloth draped over that end of the tub."

  "Why the hell would I want a washcloth between my hands and your naked body?"

  "Good point." I lifted my arms to rest on the edge of the tub and leaned my head back. I'd knotted my long hair in a bun on top of my head to keep it from getting wet, but it was slowly unraveling. I could feel long tendrils curling against my wet shoulders.

  The water moved and before I could take my next breath, a large soapy hand smoothed over my belly and up to my breasts. I nearly melted right down into the water with the luxurious feel of his hands soaping up my skin.

  "You are a puzzle," my voice drifted up with the steam. "All that power in those arms and yet you know how to be gentle."

  "I like to find a balance between the two when it comes to women." His hand smoothed back over my belly and headed for my pussy. "Spread your legs, Jen. I want to be thorough."

  "Uh huh," I sighed. I parted my legs as much as the tub would allow. Holt's hand slipped down between my thighs, and his fingers drew first along the folds of my pussy, before dipping inside of me.

  I clutched the edges of the tub. My soft moans circled the small room. My head was light with the hot water, the perfumed air and the thick long fingers dancing inside of me. His other hand smoothed over my breasts and teased my nipples while the one between my legs flicked over my clit and impaled me with deep, long strokes.

  "Holt," I mewled.

  "That's it, Jen. I want to watch you come."

  I braced my feet against the end of the tub and pushed against the pressure of his hand. It had been so long, too long, since I'd been with a man who knew exactly what he was doing that I easily slipped over into an orgasm.

  Water lapped against the side of the tub as the waves of pleasure rolled through my body. I relaxed in the warmth and allowed my bathtub fantasy a few more moments of tranquil quiet before opening my eyes. Holt removed his hands from the water and pushed to his feet. It was more than evident that the last few minutes had been just as exhilarating for him. He made no attempt to hide the erection pushing at the fly of his pants. It might have been the angle that I was looking at it, but something told me, his cock went with the rest of him, big, beautiful and breathtaking.

  I watched the muscles in his back and shoulders flex as he turned around and plucked a towel off the shelf. He dried off his arms and held up the towel. "I think Coco has made lasagna. Are you hungry or are you going to keep soaking?"

  I ran my hands over the flat tufts of bubbles that now looked more like froth than bubbles. "When I was a kid, I used to get out as soon as the bubbles flat-lined. I'd say it's that time."

  Holt opened the towel. I pushed to my feet and stepped into the waiting towel. He rubbed his hands over the lush terry cloth to dry me as I leaned back against his chest.

  "Every bath after this is going to be a complete and utter disappointment."

  His laugh was cool and low like his voice. "That's not good. Guess I'll have to make sure I'm there if you bathe again."

  "You have my permission."

  He spun me around in his arms. The instant I peered up at him, he covered my mouth with a kiss. I melted against him and parted my lips. His tongue traced a sensual trail around my lips and his kiss deepened. My head was light with it all when he lifted his mouth from mine.

  The candles still flickered and gave off the sweet smell of melted wax as the fragrant steam found its way to the cold surface of the mirror and settled there in a haze, a haze like the one in my head.

  "I'm going to let you get dressed. I'll meet you out in the hallway in twenty minutes."

  Chapter 9

  Holt walked out. I closed my eyes for a second to remember what it felt like to have his hand between my legs. Heavenly. It felt heavenly as if he'd dropped out of some fantasy world where the men were not only beautiful but they knew exactly how to touch a woman.

  I picked up my suitcase and now regretted my choice of weekend clothes. Although, in my defense, I thought I was going to be spending most of my time on the slopes with only the occasional stop in at the lodge restaurant. I hadn't even considered packing something pretty. Even i
f I didn't have much pretty in my closet, I definitely had clothes that were sexier than snow pants and thick wool sweaters.

  I walked over to the mahogany dresser in the corner of the room. There was a note sitting under the ornate clock. The top of the notepaper had the Silk Stocking Inn logo printed in pink and a long vine of pink roses lined the paper. The handwriting looked elegant and old-fashioned.

  "Jenny, I've put a dress and some shoes in the closet. Thought you might like to dress up for dinner. Hope you enjoyed your bath. Coco."

  A blush warmed my cheeks when it occurred to me she might have brought the note in while I was bathing. How was I going to face her?

  I considered not going down to dinner for all of a second when an incredible aroma made its way up the staircase and beneath the door to my room. I was extra hungry, but it would have been mouthwatering even if I'd just finished a six course meal. I brushed off my earlier worries about facing Coco. After all, I'd leave here right after my car was fixed, and this place would just be a pleasant but distant memory.

  I pulled the dress over my head, feeling doubtful that it would fit or look right. But I was wrong. I stared at myself in the full length mirror. Suddenly, I understood all the hype about owning a little black dress. It fit snuggly over every curve as if the seamstress had sewn it right on me. It was simple yet spectacular. It wasn't something I'd ever consider buying myself, but for the life of me, I couldn't understand why. It had a lacy collar that came up high around my neck, like a choker, but it was sleeveless and cut in sharply at the shoulders. My tattoos were on full display, which worked perfectly with the black dress.

  The shoes Coco had left behind were taller than my usual footwear. I slid them on, buckled the ankle straps and took a few practice runs around the room before stepping into the hallway. I passed by the mirror a few times to admire the whole look and then realized that I'd been so enamored with the dress, I'd forgotten my hair. I shuffled on the high heels to my suitcase and pulled out a brush.

  The steam from the bath had flattened my hair as if I'd taken a long walk on a foggy day. I had no choice but to sweep it up in a long ponytail. It was a pretty funky hairstyle to go with a little black dress but then so were all the tattoos on my arms.

  I stopped once more in the mirror and took a look. It all worked.

  Footsteps in the hallway caused me to stop behind my door for a moment to catch my breath. I hadn't been this excited about a guy since I was eighteen and the singer of an alternative rock band at a local venue had asked me out between sets. I'd walked around on music groupie cloud nine for a week waiting for a date that turned out to be a complete bore. The singer looked far less glorious when he wasn't on stage behind a microphone, and his personality was as flat as some of his notes.

  But this time was different. I already knew that the man waiting for me in the hallway was glorious without the microphone, and there was nothing flat or boring about him.

  Cool air from the hallway brushed my face and bare shoulders as I swung open the door. My dinner partner had opted for a dark green button down shirt, black jeans and black boots. I couldn't have made him more beautiful, even with my magical digital illustrator's tools. He was glistening with perfection.

  Holt hadn't said a word but his expression said a lot.

  I looked down at my dress, more to hide the blush than anything. "Do you like it? Coco has great taste and an uncanny ability to pick size." I lifted my face and was once again struck by how much he looked like the Ziggy on my computer.

  "If you'll excuse my language," he said as he stepped closer, "you looking fucking hot."

  "Considering I work with a group of people who use the f-word more than the word the, I think I can excuse you. Besides, somehow it sounds much better coming from you than from a tech nerd."

  "Good to know." He lifted his massive arm and I took hold of it. We walked down the stairs toward the incredible aroma coming from the kitchen. "Coco left everything we need in the dining room. I promised her we'd clean up afterward."

  "Oh, is she not going to eat with us?"

  "No, she left to visit her sister. She won't be back until tomorrow morning."

  We headed down the hallway and into a formal dining room. With its richly colored wallpaper and ornate Victorian furniture, it looked as if it had been preserved from the nineteenth century. Even the light fixtures looked as if they had at one time held candles instead of glowing light bulbs.

  The sideboard was covered with white linen and an array of food. We walked over to serve ourselves.

  I cut a piece of cheesy lasagna out of the casserole dish and placed it on his plate. "Now, I grew up with two older brothers, who both played football, and they would be able to eat three of those squares. Something tells me you’ll need at least three too."

  "Three works. I have two brothers too. Growing up, my mom never seemed to be able to keep the refrigerator filled."

  "Are you the biggest?" I cut another two squares for him and placed a square on my plate.

  "Do you mean oldest?"

  "No, I mean biggest."

  "Second biggest. My brother, Max, is a few inches bigger." Holt popped the wine open and poured us each a glass.

  I stared up at him. When he stood close by, I had to tilt my head back as if I was looking up to the top of a tall tree. "A few inches bigger—that is almost scary to imagine."

  We carried our glasses and plates to the table and sat in chairs that overlooked the snow covered front lawn. Icy crystal prints bordered the leaded glass windowpane making it look like a picture off an old-fashioned postcard. The only thing not the least bit old-fashioned was my dinner date.

  The lasagna tasted as delicious as I'd expected. "This is so good. Coco is magical. In every sense of the word."

  "Yeah, I noticed that too. In fact, I sort of stopped questioning all the unexplained stuff. It's more fun just to accept it and move on." Holt buttered a piece of bread for each of us. "So, I know a few intimate details about you." He winked and grinned at the pink he'd produced in my cheeks. "But other than knowing that you have a job as a video game creator, you have two brothers, you have a nice array of tattoos and that you like lasagna and sugarplum cupcakes, I don't know much."

  "Sadly, there isn't much more than that. I do have three goldfish named Larry, Moe and Harpo." I pointed at him. "You thought I was going to say Curly, didn't you?"

  "Sort of goes with Larry and Moe."

  "Yep, I know, but the third fish just reminded me more of Harpo. Anyhow, I've been working at Phantasm Game World since right out of college. They actually came looking for me after they saw my portfolio. So I got lucky."

  "That's not luck. That's skill."

  "Thanks. Sometimes I'm not great at giving myself credit. What about you? So far I know you also have two brothers and one is a giant, you race snowmobiles, you are a forest ranger who doesn't hang out with Yogi Bear and you are way better than a loofah sponge in a bath."

  The last item on the list made him laugh. "I'm glad to know my skills top a loofah. Like you, not much more to tell. When the snow season is over, I'm still a ranger, but I switch to downhill mountain bike racing. I'm kind of a speed junkie. Plenty of scars and titanium plates in my body to prove it."

  "Titanium?"

  "Yes, that's the metal they use to bolt bones back together."

  "I know. It's the metal in the armor my latest video game character wears." I stopped short of listing all the other similarities he had with my digital hero. I would have sounded like a lunatic. I decided to change topics but didn't really think about the switch until I asked it. "So, no girlfriend? Or fiancé?" I stopped short of wife, not wanting to know the answer to that one.

  He leaned back against the chair with his wine glass in hand. "There are women. But there is no one woman. If that answers your question."

  "Pretty much."

  "What about you?" I could feel the heat of his gaze on me as he waited.

  I thought briefly, almost with a
laugh, about Stan and how lackluster he seemed now, after my short time with Holt. Of course, none of it mattered because both men were out of reach and not in the market for one woman. Holt had just admitted himself that he was a player. Typical.

  I decided to throw his own cryptic answer back at him. I shrugged and picked up my wine. "There are men but no one man." Unless you count a certain video game character, I wanted to add, but once again, decided to keep it to myself at the risk of seeming crazy.

  I drank some wine for fortification and set it down. I'd made my mind up to have a good time since nothing about this weekend would follow me back home, and I decided to move forward with my plan. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I was sure there was only a billion to one chance of me ending up in a cozy, out of the way inn with a gorgeous man. Trillion to one if you added in the unlikelihood of me meeting a man who looks, sounds and even acts just like Ziggy Holt of Hell's Rangers. I didn't want to blow those odds.

  I took another long sip and set down the glass. "Now that we've both established that we are players and not stayers, how should we occupy our time in this big empty house?" I glanced out into the hallway. "We are alone, right?"

  "Unless there are some unhappy spirits lingering around the place, which I wouldn't doubt, knowing Coco, then we are completely alone." He turned his chair toward me. "What do you have in mind, snow angel? And please tell me it has something to do with that black dress."

  "You approve of this dress?" I asked and turned my chair so that we were facing each other.

  His legs were so long that our knees touched. I scooted the already short hem of the dress up higher on my thighs, stopping just before exposing my underwear. "Tell you what, if you can tell me what color my panties are, then I'll take them off before we do the dishes."