i had a chance to be your man

 Leave him the fuck alone, lady. He doesn’t like to be touched.

  He moves toward me and clasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger.“How can you think otherwise? Have I ever given you any indication that I could be remotely interested in anyone else?” His eyes blaze as he stares into mine.“No,” I whisper. “I’m being silly. It’s just today . . . you . . .” All my conflicting emotions from earlier resurfaces. How can I tell him how confused I am? I’ve been confounded and frustrated by his behavior this afternoon in my office. One minute he wants me to stay at home, the next he’s gifting me a company. How am I supposed to keep up?“What about me?”“Oh”—my bottom lip trembles—“I’m trying to adapt to this new life that I had never imagined for myself. Everything is being handed to me on a plate—the job, you, my beautiful husband, who I never . . . I never knew I’d love this way, this hard,this fast, this . . . indelibly.” I take a deep steadying breath, as his mouth drops open.

 “But you’re like a freight train, and I don’t want to get railroaded because the girl you fell in love with will be crushed. And what’ll be left? All that would be left is a vacuous social x-ray, flitting from charity function to charity function.” I pause once more, struggling to find the words to convey how I feel. “And now you want me to be a company CEO, which has never even been on my radar. I’m bouncing between all these ideas, struggling. You want me at home. You want me to run a company. It’s so confusing.” I stop, tears threatening, and I force back a sob.

 “You’ve got to let me make my own decisions, take my own risks, and make my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. I need to walk before I can run, don’t you see. I want some independence. That’s what my name means to me.” There, that’s what I wanted to say this afternoon.“You feel railroaded?” he whispers.I nod.He closes his eyes and runs his hand through his hair in agitation. “I just want to give you the world, everything and anything you want. And save you from it, too. Keep you safe. But I also want everyone to know you’re mine. I panicked today when I got your e-mail. 

 “For heaven’s sake, I’m not going anywhere. When are you going to get that through your incredibly thick skull? I. Love. You.” I wave my hand in the air like he does sometimes to emphasize my point. “More than . . . eyesight, space, or liberty.”

He smiles his beautiful, boyish yes-I-am-really-kinda-young smile, and he takes my breath away. Grabbing me by my waist, he swings me around. I squeal and start to giggle, and I don’t know if he’s just happy or relieved or . . . what? He leans down and kisses me, his fingers moving into my hair,holding  me in place.

 “Sit.” I gesture to the empty chair, trying to maintain the upper hand.“Are you going to wash my hair?”I nod. He arches one brow in surprise, and for a moment I think he’s going to back down. “Okay.” Slowly he begins to undo each button of his white shirt, starting with the one beneath his throat. Nimble, deft fingers move to each button in turn until his shirt hangs open.

He holds out a cuff with an “undo this now” gesture, and his mouth twitches in that challenging, sexy way he has.Oh, cufflinks. I take his proffered wrist and remove the first one, a platinum disc with his initials engraved in a simple italic script—and then remove its matching twin. As I finish I glance at him, and his amused expression is gone, replaced by something hotter . . . much hotter. I reach up and push his shirt off his shoulders,letting it fall to the floor.“Ready?” I whisper.“For whatever you want.”My eyes stray from his eyes to his lips. Parted so that he can inhale more deeply. Sculptured, chiseled, whatever, it is a beautiful mouth and he knows exactly what to do with it. I find myself leaning up to kiss him.“No,” he says and places both of his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t. If you do that, I’ll never get my hair cut.”

 Oh!“I want this,” he continues. And his eyes are round and raw for some inexplicable reason. It’s disarming.“Why?” I whisper.He stares at me for a beat, and his eyes grow wider. “Because it’ll make me feel cherished.”My heart practically lurches to a halt. Oh,  . . . my . And before I know it I’ve circled him in my arms, and I kiss his chest before nuzzling my cheek into his tickly chest hair.He wraps his arms around me and we stand immobile, holding each other in our bathroom. Oh, how I love to be in his arms. Even if he is an overbearing, megalomaniac arse, he’s my overbearing megalomaniac arse in need of a lifetime dose of TLC. I lean back without releasing him.“You really want me to do this?”He nods and gives me his shy smile. I grin back at him and step out of his embrace.“Then sit,” I repeat.He dutifully does, sitting with his back to the sink. I take off my shoes and kick them over to where his shirt lies crumpled on the bathroom floor. From the shower I retrieve his Chanel shampoo. We bought it in France.

 “Would sir like this?” I hold it up in both hands like I’m selling it on QVC. “Hand-delivered from the South of France. I like the smell of this . . . it smells of you,” I add in a whisper, slipping out of my television presenter  mode.“Please.” He grins.I grab a small towel off the towel warmer. “Lean forward,” I order and he complies. Draping the towel around his shoulders, I then turn on the taps and fill the sink with a mix of warm water.“Lean back.” Oh, I like being in charge. He leans back, but he’s too tall. He shifts the seat forward then tilts back the entire chair until the top rests against the sink. Perfect distance. He tips back his head. Bold eyes gaze up at me, and I smile. Taking one of the drinking glasses we keep on the vanity, I dip it into the water and tip it over his head, soaking his hair. I repeat the process, leaning over him.“You smell so good” he murmurs and closes his eyes.

 As I methodically wet his hair, I freely gaze at him. Holy cow. Will I ever tire of this? Long dark lashes fan across his cheeks; his lips part a little, creating a small, dark diamond shape, and he inhales softly. Hmm . . . how I long to poke my tongue—I splash water into his eyes. Shit! “Sorry!”He grabs the corner of the towel and laughs as he wipes the water out of his eyes.“Hey, I know I’m an arse, but don’t drown me.”I lean down and kiss his forehead, giggling. “Don’t tempt me.”He curls his hand behind my head and shifts so that he captures my lips with his. He kisses me briefly, making a low contented sound in his throat. The noise connects to the muscles deep in my belly. It’s a very seductive sound. He releases me and lies back obediently, gazing up at me with expectation. For a moment he looks vulnerable, like a child. It tugs at my heart.I squirt some shampoo into my palm and massage it into his scalp, beginning at his temples and working over the top of his head and down the sides, circling my fingers rhythmically. He closes his eyes again and makes that low humming sound again.“That feels good,” he says after a moment and relaxes beneath the firm touch of my fingers.“Yes it does.” I kiss his forehead once more.“I like it when you scratch my scalp with your fingernails.” His eyes are still closed, but his expression one of blissful contentment—no trace of his vulnerability remains. Jeez, how much his mood has changed, and I take comfort knowing it’s me that’s done this.

 “Head up,” I command and he obeys. Hmm—a girl could get used to this. I rub the suds into the back of his hair, scraping my nails into his scalp.“Back.”He leans back, and I rinse off the lather, using the glass. This time I manage not to splash him.“Once more?” I ask.“Please.” His eyes flutter open and his serene gaze finds mine. I grin down at him.“Coming right up.”I turn to the sink that he normally uses and fill it with warm water.“For rinsing,” I say when his look turns quizzical.I repeat the process with the shampoo, listening to his even deep breaths. Once he’s all lathered up, I take another moment to appreciate  the fine face of my husband. I cannot resist him. Tenderly, I caress his cheek, and he opens his eyes,watching  me almost sleepily through his long lashes. Leaning forward I plant a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. He smiles, closes his eyes, and breathes out a sigh of utter contentment.

 Jeez. Who would have thought after our argument this afternoon he could be this relaxed? Without sex? I lean right over him.“Hmm,” he murmurs appreciatively as my breasts brush his face. Resisting the urge to shimmy, I pull the plug so the sudsy water drains away. His hands move to my hips and around to my behind.“No fondling the help,” I murmur, feigning disapproval.“Don’t forget I’m deaf,” he says, keeping his eyes closed, as he runs his hands down past my behind and starts to hitch up my skirt. I swat his arm. I’m enjoying playing hairdresser. He grins, big and boyish, like I’ve caught him doing something illicit that he’s secretly proud of.

 I reach for the glass again, but this time use the water from the neighboring sink to carefully rinse all the shampoo from his hair. I continue to lean over him, and he keeps his hands on my backside, thrumming his fingers back and forward, up and down . . . back and forth . . . hmm. I wiggle. He growls low in his throat.“There. All rinsed.”“Good,” he declares. His fingers tighten on my behind, and all at once he sits up, his soaked hair dripping all over him. He pulls me down onto his lap, his hands moving from my behind up to the nape of my neck, then to my chin, holding me in place. I gasp with surprise and his lips are on mine, his tongue hot and hard in my mouth. My fingers curl around his wet hair, and drops of water run down my arms; and as he deepens the kiss, his hair bathes my face. His hand moves from my chin down to the top button of my blouse.“Enough of this primping. I want to fuck you seven shades of Sunday, and we can do it in here or in the bedroom. You decide.”