Chapter Eight

Bath time.

Audrey knelt beside the tub and washed one of Cole’s arms, still speckled with stamps from the etiquette class, while he played sink-the-tugboat with his free hand. The ink cleaned up easily with the exception of a pair of bright green lizards on his left wrist. As she soaped the lizards, the tugboat floated under her outstretched arms into a mound of bubbles. Cole splashed hard at his toy with one flat hand. A wave of water caught her just under her chin and soaked the neckline of her pale cream summer tee shirt.

“Careful!” She wiped the water and bubbles from her throat and resumed scrubbing.

“I can’t reach it.” He kicked both feet at the boat, and instantly, the entire front of her shirt was saturated.

“Ha! Bath time for Miss Turner!” He splashed again before she could move safely away from the edge of the tub. She looked down at the front of her shirt. The water had made the pale silk jersey almost completely translucent. She could easily make out the lacy pattern of her delicate pink bra and the tiny pink bow between the cups. By looking closely, she could see the faint darkening of the tips of her breasts. She rearranged some of the bubble bath foam to strategically cover her front.

“No more splashing, Cole.” She was sterner than she’d intended. Cole pouted at her.

“But I couldn’t reach my boat.”

“Okay, but don’t do it again.”

She looked ridiculous with the sheer shirt clinging to her skin and the twin mounds of bubbles hiding her bra. She hadn’t brought a change of clothes, either. Maybe there was a blow dryer. She opened a cabinet and searched in its deep plastic bins.

I can’t believe I have to blow-dry my breasts.

It almost would’ve been funny except that Dennis would be home before her shirt could dry.

No blow dryer in sight. Bits of bubbles still clung to her breasts, but they were a short-term solution. She would simply have to borrow something from Dennis and use the dryer in the laundry nook. Surely he had an old t-shirt and wouldn’t mind, considering that is was his son who put her in this bind.

“Out of the tub, mister. Put on your robe and you can watch cartoons.”

After Cole was dried and settled, Audrey opened the door to Dennis’s bedroom. Heavy drapes were drawn across the window, darkening the room. She fumbled for a wall switch and the dark cave of a room was flooded with light.

Dennis’s bedroom was not at all what she expected. Though it was as neat and clean as a designer show room, it lacked the cold modern sparsity of the public rooms. On the far wall, a huge bed on a platform was made up in eggplant and ivory silk with a mountain of throw pillows. Part of the room was a sitting area with a pair of club chairs and a cushy chaise lounge. A lap quilt had been thrown casually across the foot of the chaise next to a book with a ribbon bookmark poking out the top.

Audrey picked up the glitzy spy thriller that had topped the bestseller lists earlier that year. It surprised her that Dennis would read that kind of book. Somehow, she expected him to prefer doorstop-sized biographies of men of distinction, maybe an occasional book on the latest business trends. But this was her reason for being here. She wanted to understand her school parents and their preferences, values, and concerns. It was useful to know that even Dennis Delaney liked paperback novels. It showed that he valued the occasional light entertainment, just like anyone.

Except that he really wasn’t just like anyone.

Some odd compulsion swept through Audrey. She dropped onto the chaise, wet shirt and all, and leaned back, kicking her feet up. The lap quilt was soft and worn from multiple washings. A tall floor lamp with an ivory shade hovered over her shoulder.

So this was where he relaxed at night. She settled back against the cushions and opened the book to read the first few sentences. She hadn’t taken the time to enjoy a little romp through a novel in more months than she cared to remember.

Sounds of Cole’s laughter carried through the open bedroom door. Reluctantly, Audrey put the book down, rose from the chaise, and swiped at the small damp mark her shirt had left on the fabric. She should remember this chaise for the future. If Cole ever took one of his rare naps, she could come in here and stretch out, maybe with a tall glass of iced tea and a delicious novel of her own.

She glanced around but saw no dressers. Two doors were set into the wall near the bed platform. Audrey opened the first and found Dennis’s bathroom. Spacious, marble-clad, and bright, with a huge Jacuzzi tub and a separate shower, the bathroom looked like it belonged in a luxurious spa rather than a private residence. Audrey wandered in, touching the cool marble counters and hand towels as soft as cotton candy.

Centered between twin sinks was a black lacquer tray with some of Dennis’s toiletries. Audrey picked up a glass bottle of cologne and weighed it in her hand. It was heavy, almost full. She wondered if it had been a gift from someone, put out for display and left unused. Dennis didn’t seem like the cologne type. She popped open the cap and sniffed lightly at the spicy brew. Nope, definitely not his style. He was more the clean, fresh-from-the-lake type. She set the bottle down.

A quick peek in the bathroom cabinets didn’t turn up a blow dryer. Audrey walked out of the bathroom. The other door led to a good-sized dressing room with clothes hanging along one wall and drawers lining the other. A three-way mirror was tucked in one corner next to a shoe rack. Everything was precisely organized, his long row of suits arrayed from dark to light, each shoe filled with a wooden protector.

The cherry drawers were lined up in a perfect grid, four columns by four rows. Audrey pulled at the nearest drawer and found compartmentalized rows of socks, neatly paired, marching from darkest to lightest. Not a single pair was patterned or colorful. Somehow, that didn’t surprise her.

Drawer after drawer she pulled open, seeing precise stacks of perfectly folded pajamas, sweaters, and dark leather belts curled into spiral nests. She found the t-shirts but moved past them, intent on seeing it all. She was snooping now, and she knew it, but she didn’t care.

The top drawer in the last column made her gasp aloud with shock. In it were several compartments of neatly rolled, bright patterned boxer shorts. Silk, cotton, and flannel were laid out with the colors mixing and clashing, salmon beside orange, chartreuse green next to mulberry. Audrey saw stripes, polka dots, foulards, autumn leaves, and even race cars.

She ran her fingers over the neat rolls. She would pay actual cash money to see the staid Dennis Delaney decked out in pumpkin-orange silk with tiny white ghosts chasing each other around his butt. (Bottom, she remembered him saying. Gentlemen do not say butt. And to think, all the while he’d been wearing a pair of these outrageous shorts under his navy trousers.)

She could almost visualize him in these red poinsettia flannels, his long legs stretched out below, his flat stomach widening up to his broad shoulders. She’d seen the dark hair on his wrists peeping out from under his white shirt cuff, and she imagined a similar sprinkling across his chest. She could almost see that chest like a wall of muscle, the dark hair tracing a line below his navel to the waistband. Would his skin be dark and burnished all over? Or would he have tan lines that ended right around his—

“Miss Turner!”

She jumped. Her hand skittered across the drawer and disrupted the perfect contents. She hadn’t heard Cole approach. He stood in the dressing room door, and behind him was Dennis, a frown grooving his forehead.

“Cole! You startled me!” She felt her cheeks flame.

“What are you doing?” Cole asked.

“Looking for a dry t-shirt to borrow.”

Dennis’s eyes dropped to her wet shirtfront and hesitated there before flicking away. His customary stoic expression vanished. His lips were tightly compressed, his nostrils flared. Angry. Well, she couldn’t blame him. She’d been snooping in his skivvies. His surprising, colorful, lively, daring, playful skivvies. How on earth could he wear these and still be the man he was? Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye.

His frown deepened into an outright scowl.

Nope. He was exactly the stickler she’d always known him to be. And she was elbow-deep in his undies with a wet t-shirt to boot.

She checked her shirtfront and noticed that the bubbles were nearly gone. Her pink bra almost glowed through the fabric. She folded her arms across her breasts. Dennis’s eyes tracked her movement, and again hesitated just a flicker of a second too long. He wasn’t staring, not exactly. He was far too controlled for that. But that slight hesitation in his roving gaze, not just once but twice, made Audrey’s cheeks bloom a deeper crimson.

“Cole soaked me while I was giving him a bath.”

“Miss Turner had bubble boobies, Daddy.”

Dennis went rigid. “Where, exactly, does my son learn such language?”

“I’ve never used that word in my life.” Audrey hugged her chest even tighter, but felt a glint of annoyance at Dennis’s implication. “May I borrow something dry to wear?”

Dennis reached out and pulled open the drawer with the t-shirts. His glance fluttered down ever so briefly at her wet breasts. So covert was his glance, she wouldn’t have noticed unless she’d watched for it. Audrey looked down and saw that her tight arms were pushing her breasts up and making deep cleavage. Bits of pink lace were visible despite her attempt at concealment.

No wonder he keeps looking. I’m practically on display. She forced herself to drop her arms, turning to face the bank of drawers for the sake of modesty.

“Help yourself,” Dennis said.

“You looked in the wrong place, Miss Turner. That was Daddy’s underpants drawer.”

“Yes, I see that.” Audrey wanted to smooth the rumpled briefs, but her hands trembled mid-air as she reconsidered. Dennis had seen her with her mitts deep in his underwear drawer once already. No need to compound the error. She closed the drawer, hoping he hadn’t noticed the mess she’d made.

“You see London, you see France, you see Daddy’s underpants!” Cole laughed like a madman and sprinted out of the room, repeating his silly rhyme. Audrey, her heart still pounding in her ears, pulled a plain white t-shirt from the open drawer with shaking fingers.

It was just because Cole startled her.

But she was lying to herself, and she knew it. She snuck a glance at Dennis. He wasn’t looking at her, not at any part of her. She felt an insane urge to face him proudly, shoulders back, breasts high, to see if she could tempt his gaze.

“When you’ve changed, I’d like a word with you.” Dennis strode from the dressing room, his back a forbidding tower of rigid male displeasure.