Chapter 116: Red Lace

Okay.

Something had gotten into his wife, and he was already a huge fan of whatever it was.

"Okay, I feel like I am walking into trouble. But I need to remind you that it isn’t Saturday."

"Yes, I know." She walked toward the island and placed the wine and glasses down.

Dorian’s eyes followed every movement. That robe seemed specifically designed to destroy whatever concentration he had left.

"But since I couldn’t make it for the dinner you suggested," Naomi continued, "I brought dinner to you. And," she added, "I remember you saying you wanted dessert before dinner, so I dressed accordingly." She gestured toward herself.

"I see." Dorian placed the bag in his hand down. He stepped closer. "Don’t take this the wrong way." "I love this. I love where this is going." He stopped in front of her. His gaze swept over the lace again before returning to her face. "But what’s gotten into you?"

"I don’t know, honestly. I like being with you." Naomi gave a small shrug like the admission embarrassed her. "And I want to enjoy whatever brief pleasure we have right now before life comes knocking in a bit. I want it all with you. I want the full experience." She looked around at the ridiculous effort she had put into turning his barely used dining room into something intimate.

"I want to pretend to be your actual wife." Naomi laughed nervously. "It’s stupid, I know."

"No, it isn’t."

"It kind of is."

"It really isn’t."

She looked at him then, and whatever he saw in her face made him stop arguing. "It’s just..." she exhaled. "You’re this amazing man that’s detrimental to my health and I..." Her expression crumpled into frustration as she searched for the right words. "I don’t..." She swallowed. "I feel..." Her eyes flicked away.

Then she shook her head quickly.

"Ugh... never mind."

"Say it, Naomi," Dorian said.

She looked up at him, confused. "Say what?"

"Say what you feel. You never hold back. Go on, tell me."

"I feel... I..."

"Naomi, come on," he urged.

And God, he wanted her to say it. He wanted her to say the exact thing sitting inside his own chest, the thing he had only just admitted to himself.

Naomi frowned slightly. "I don’t have the words."

"You do. You do, babe." Dorian reached for her face, lifting her chin gently until she was looking at him. "Just look at me, Naomi, and tell me how you feel."

She lowered her eyes again, clearly trying to think.

"No, no." Dorian tilted her face back up. "Look at me. Me. Tell me."

Naomi finally swallowed. "I feel safe."

And just like that, all the hope he had built up inside himself shattered into a million invisible pieces.

Safe.

That was what she felt.

Dorian forced himself not to react. Safe should have meant something. Actually, with Naomi, safe meant a lot. He knew enough now to understand that. He knew what she had seen growing up. He knew what her mother had endured, even if Naomi did not know he knew. He knew the kind of man who had shaped her view of relationships.

So yes, safe was progress. Safe was trust. Safe was probably one of the biggest things she could give him.

He would take it. Even if his own heart was already a million steps ahead. Naomi kept looking at him.

"You make me feel like I can be more." She continued slowly, trying to put the feeling into words. "I feel stronger with you."

"I’ll always have your back whenever you need me, Naomi." Dorian’s hands remained gently against her face. "You do not have to hide with me. You do not have to hold back." He brushed his thumb lightly across her cheek. "You just have to be Naomi. My chatterbox."

"Ugh!" Naomi smacked him lightly on the arm. "You’re horrible."

Dorian laughed. "I’ll go freshen up and come down for dinner. All of this looks really lovely."

Naomi smiled. She kept the smile in place until he turned away and disappeared from the kitchen.

Then, for reasons she could not explain, a tear slipped down her cheek. What the hell? She swiped it away angrily.

She wasn’t sad. At least, she didn’t think she was. Dinner was ready. Dorian was home. Yet something inside her felt painfully full. She pressed her lips together. She knew one thing though. She was dreading the end of this.

The end of them. Four months and twenty-four days. Actually, twenty-three days if she deducted today, because today was almost over anyway.

Why was she counting again? She grabbed the wine bottle and glasses and carried them into the dining area, placing them carefully on the table.

The candles were still burning softly, and the music filled the room. Naomi stepped back and looked over the table.

This was nice.

Naomi exhaled slowly and walked back into the kitchen. Then she noticed his work bag still sitting where he had dropped it. She picked it up, adjusted the satin sash around her waist before heading upstairs. She climbed the stairs toward Dorian’s private floor, the sound of the house becoming quieter with every step.

She pushed the door to his bedroom open slightly. "Dorian?"

Then she heard the shower as she stepped inside. She crossed to the dresser and placed his bag down.

Her eyes shifted toward the bathroom. She walked toward the bathroom door. Her fingers closed around the handle.

Slowly, she pushed it open. Steam curled through the room.

Dorian stood beneath the shower with both palms flat against the wall in front of him, his head slightly lowered as water streamed over his shoulders and down his naked body. He looked distant. He wasn’t simply standing beneath the shower enjoying the water. His head was lowered, both palms flat against the tiled wall in front of him, shoulders tense despite the heat pouring over his body.

Naomi stepped farther into the bathroom. He still didn’t notice her. She reached for the body wash, squeezed some onto his loofah and stepped beneath the spray behind him. The water immediately soaked through the delicate red lace of her robe, but she barely noticed.

She pressed the loofah gently against his back. Dorian stiffened. His head lifted slightly, surprise running through his body because he genuinely hadn’t heard her come in. Naomi said nothing. She simply began washing his back, moving the loofah slowly over his shoulders and down the strong lines of his body.

Gradually, the tension eased out of him. Dorian closed his eyes and let himself feel it. The silence was unexpectedly intimate. Naomi wasn’t teasing him, wasn’t rambling, wasn’t trying to turn the moment into something funny because she didn’t know what else to do with it.

Dorian didn’t know what to do with that. She moved around him until she stood between his body and the shower wall.

The loofah moved slowly across his chest. Water ran through her hair, flattening it against her neck and shoulders. The robe she had chosen for dinner was practically nonexistent now, the red lace plastered against her skin while the satin sash hung heavily around her waist.

Her attention stayed on Dorian. She worked across his chest and shoulders, down over his stomach, quietly concentrating on the task.

Dorian’s breathing gradually deepened. She risked a glance upward. His palms were still pressed against the shower wall on either side of her, effectively boxing her in without touching her, and the look in his eyes made her stomach tighten.

Smoldering wasn’t even the right word. It was too intense for that. He looked at her like there was something he desperately wanted to say and something else he desperately wanted to do, and Naomi suddenly felt very small standing there beneath him.

Her eyes dropped immediately. The loofah moved across his stomach once more before she reached to hang it back where she had found it.

Except she was still trapped between his arms. The running water suddenly seemed ridiculously loud.

"Dorian?" she whispered.