No, it wasn’t Dot Dot Dot. Not yet.
Joey was right about that.
I slip off my top and unwrap my skirt as soon as I get to the bedroom, closing the door and heading for the bath. I’ve been longing for a soak in that big beauty for days. As well as some exclusive me time.
I thought I knew what I was getting into. I did my research and I’d been diligent in the initial phase of our communications. Everything I saw about Emerson Wayne before the proposal said he was a careful man. Cautious. Patient. As detail-oriented as I am. A little old fashioned, but not in a grating way.
His ex-wife was the only piece that didn’t fit with anything else I learned about him. Rowena is too…Kardashian. I don’t mean it as an insult, but it’s the only way I can describe the in-your-face, over-the-top sex kitten attitude she exudes in all her photographs.
Now that I know Emerson and the boys, I think my research must have missed something. Or their attraction was all about the sex.
And now I’m a little jealous.
Because I want my husband, and he seems to want me. If last night is anything to go by, he really wants me.
I had no idea he was so sexual.
What if I don’t measure up?
I sit on the small bench I’ve placed near the tub and run my bath, adding oils meant to soothe my spirit as much as they ease my sore muscles. This is my old unwinding ritual. It usually comforts me.
I need it desperately. Based on his previous choices, I may or may not be my husband’s type, but he’s definitely mine, and he’s making me want things I’ve never wanted before. So badly, I’m not sure how much longer I can resist his advances.
I’m not even sure why I’m resisting at all.
I don’t know if he’s aware of it, but the way he follows me with his eyes drives me crazy. The way he seems to hold his breath when I pass. Or leans into an accidental touch. Or licks his full lips when I speak and makes me forget what I’m saying.
He reminds me of a dormant volcano ready to come back to life at any moment. And I want to believe I can be the one to make that happen, but it might be wishful thinking. Still, I’ve been making a lot of wishes lately.
I turn off the tap and, take off my bra and underwear, hyperaware of the way the fabric scrapes against my sensitive skin. Then I remove my socket, liner and sock before slipping into the deliciously hot water.
I wished to choose the husband I wanted, instead of the one my brother thought would benefit him financially.
I wanted Emerson as soon as I saw him, so I chose him.
As Joey would say, mission accomplished.
I rest my head on the waterproof pillow and let myself float in the water, thinking of last night again.
Emerson is so strong, he could probably do whatever he wanted to me. He could put me wherever he wants me, could lift me in his arms and pin me against the wall, and there’d be nothing I could do about it.
When he set me in his lap in the middle of a Queer Eye life makeover and started nuzzling my neck, that truth crystalized in my mind.
“Are you trying to tell me something with this show?” he murmurs in my ear, his hand caressing my back. My side. “You’ve already redecorated the house. You want to go through my closet?”
“N-no. I like your sweaters.”
His lips open on my neck, his tongue tasting my skin. “Are you sure? I’m willing to make a few changes for you.”
He lifts his head long enough to tug off his t-shirt, and then he’s placing my hand on his bare chest. “Now you can do whatever you want. Make me over.”
His kiss is so carnal it overwhelms me. His hands are everywhere over my nightshirt, then lower, cupping my bottom.
I’m lost to it, loving it, but when he touches my thigh—that thigh—I go stiff in his arms.
He lifts his head and looks into my eyes. “You can trust me, Tanisha. Trust that when you’re ready, I want all of you.”
I feel his fingers skim the sock that covers the proof of my imperfection and I shake my head, burying my face in his neck. “Not yet. Please.”