The soft, soothing sounds of Debussy’s Claire de Lune, fill my apartment, the clear, sweet notes mixing with the clang and bang of my weight lifting equipment as I work out. Normally my workout sessions are accompanied by classic rock such as the Eagles and Bon Jovi, but tonight is all about Erin, so Debussy it is.

I tap at the touch screen that runs my treadmill and the belt beneath my feet moves faster. My arms pump and my chest burns, but despite the discomfort, I keep running. Despite the effort, it doesn’t eradicate the image of Erin from my mind.

Before returning to the Dovetail, we made a quick stop at the drugstore. Erin bought a couple of candy bars while I smuggled a box of fresh condoms and a bottle of sandalwood scented bath oil through the self-checkout. After hustling Erin up to my penthouse apartment, I filled the enormous whirlpool bathtub with water that I scented with the oil, put the Debussy on the sound system that played throughout my entire living quarters, handed her a glass of wine, and told her to soak for as long as she wanted.

She looked surprised, then relieved.

The only problem is that now I can’t stop thinking about what she must look like, the water swirling around her, her hair piled high on her head, with a few damp strands curling around her neck as small bubbles cling to her glistening skin.

Once the image popped into my head, I couldn’t get rid of it.

I don’t dare read a book or watch television while I wait for Erin to finish her bath. She needs some peace and quiet, and a chance to process everything that’s happened to her. She doesn’t need me constantly poking at her.

Working out is the only activity that’s grueling enough and far enough from the bathroom to prevent me from diving headfirst into the tub and teaching her just how much fun a bath can be.

I bump the treadmill to an even higher speed. My thoughts turn to that little scene next to the food truck. Erin might have been tired, she might have even been a little overwhelmed by everything that took place between us today, but she was all those things when we first left the building to find dinner. They might have been factors in her sudden shut down when she finished eating, but they weren’t the trigger. That was something I’d said. I just remembered what it was.

The funny thing is, that as we were talking, I was more honest, shared more information with Erin than I ever did. Maddy and the folks at the IRS are the only ones who ever knew exactly how good I am when it comes to investing and making sound business decisions. My friends know that I’m well off, but even the ones who have projects I’ve invested in don’t know just how many different ventures I have a stake in, or how much I’ve earned off those. I don’t want the fact that I’ve earned a few billion dollars since turning twenty to change the way they feel about me. Some will be intimidated, others jealous, and I know that at least a handful of the people I consider friends would come up with a dozen different ways to relieve me of my money, and be offended if I told them no.

It would have been so easy to underplay my financial situation when Erin asked. Over the years, I’ve become an old pro at half-truths to explain my ownership of various pieces of properties and assets.

But when the subject came up, the cover stories wouldn’t come. It was like I was standing at a crossroads and every iota of my being screamed at me to be honest with Erin, that while I didn’t yet know what her long-term role in my life would be, all of my instincts screamed at me that I need to be honest with her.

I always trust my instincts.

And she handled it beautifully, even going so far as to tell me things about her life that I sensed she rarely, if ever, shared.

And I was completely enchanted, apparently so much so that I’d managed to shoot off my big mouth and say something that had pissed her off, and then promptly forgot what it was.

No matter how much I rack my brain, I just can’t remember my words.

I tap the treadmill’s power icon, shutting the machine down. Harlan, who’s lying along one wall, raises his head and studies me with calm eyes. “Harlan,” I address him. “If I ever figure this out, I’ll try not to make the same mistake again.”

The dog’s massive tail thumps against the ground.

I look around, for the first time noticing that Sammy isn’t in the room. “Looks like your being here has put Sam’s nose out of joint.” I walk to the mini-fridge and pull out a water bottle. “He’s probably lying around somewhere, plotting his revenge. The last time I upset him, he threw up in my shoes. Three times. Talk about disgusting.”

“Garret?” I spin around at the sound of Erin saying my name. She’s standing in the doorway. The huge, rose-colored robe I got from her apartment engulfs her, making her appear tiny. Dressed in a bathrobe, with strands of wet hair framing her face, she’s hotter than most women are when they’re wearing full makeup and an evening dress.

“Hey.” I keep my voice soft and involuntarily take a step toward her. “I thought you’d stay in the tub longer.”

“I thought about it.” The corners of her mouth lift in a shy smile that grows more confident as her eyes roam down the length of my body. “But the longer I laid there, the more I realized there was something else I wanted.”

My cock twitches, a direct reaction to the unbanked heat in her eyes.

“And what else do you want?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from a long way away.

Erin’s smile takes on a distinctly naughty quality. She reaches for her waist, tugs the knot holding connecting the two ends of the belt loose, and lets the robe slide off her shoulders and fall to the ground. The water bottle falls, forgotten, to the floor, the contents seeping into the carpeting.

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, her pretty eyes meet mine. “I want you.”

“Um…” is the only thing I can think to say as Erin steps out of the massive folds of terry cloth that have enveloped her bare feet and pads across the floor toward me. Her hips sway seductively and her eyes gleam with intent.

My cock is all but weeping with delight. Just thirty seconds ago, I was convinced that I was going to back off. I had every intention of tucking Erin into my bed and letting her get a good night’s sleep, alone, but that plan was falling apart faster than ice on a hot sunny day.

Erin wraps her fingers into my T-shirt, not caring that it’s soaking wet from my workout. She gives it a tug, drawing me to her. The scent of sandalwood floods my senses.

She tips her head back, her big beautiful eyes capturing mine, holding them. “I decided that as good that bath felt, the things you did to my body today felt even better and that I’m a fool to not take advantage.”

I swallow and try to remember how to speak. “Okay.”

“I want to feel your skin against mine,” she says, just in case I didn’t understand what she meant when she said that she wanted me. “I want to feel your cock jump and twitch when you come inside of me.” She releases my shirt but reaches for the front of the sweatpants I’m wearing. She plucks the waistband away and slides her hand inside, her fingertips brushing against the proof of my arousal.

I reach out and place my hand against the wall, using it for support as my knees threaten to buckle.

Erin’s grin grows even wider. “Feels like you’re as happy with my wants as I am.”