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I went to the fridge and pulled out some of the leftovers from that day. Dad cooked a large ham, and there was lots left. I put a few slices on a plate for Maggie, along with mashed potatoes and cabbage, then wandered back upstairs to see how she was doing. I didn’t go inside but instead knocked gently on the door.
“Shay?” she asked. “You can come in if you want.”
I squeezed my eyes shut because if I went in that bathroom, I knew I was going to be confronted with a temptation I might not be strong enough to resist.
“It’s okay,” she continued. “I poured more bubbles in, so you can’t see anything.”
Right, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t be aware of the heaven that laid beneath all the bubbles. Instead of going in, I went and grabbed a large towel from the airing cupboard. When I returned to the bathroom, I opened the door a few inches and slid my arm through, holding out the towel. Maggie chuckled softly, and the sound released some of the tension that had been coiled tight just above my abdomen. The bath had calmed her a little, and hearing her relaxed laughter made me calmer, too.
“I can’t reach that,” she said. “You’re going to have to come in.”
With a reluctant sigh, I stepped into the bathroom, trying to avert my eyes, but it was useless. My gaze was drawn to her like a magnet until I was presented with one of the most beautiful sights I’d ever seen. As promised, the bath was so full of bubbles I couldn’t see any of her nakedness. All I could see was her long, wet auburn hair draped across the back of the tub as she reclined. Her pale neck was exposed, and the barest hint of cleavage visible, but that was all.
Her face though, her face was stunning. Gone were the stress lines that had been etched between her eyebrows and the frantic, teary sheen in her eyes. Now, her skin had a pinkish glow, her plump lips soft and kissable. The smattering of freckles across her cheeks could’ve been painted by one of the masters. She looked relaxed, at ease, and I was transfixed, unable to look anywhere else.
For some inexplicable reason, my fingers itched to draw her.
“Shay?” she asked, her tone questioning. I must’ve had a strange expression on my face. Swallowing thickly, I went and placed the towel on the stool near the bath, then pulled out my phone.
“I made up a plate for you if you’re hungry,” I typed.
“Oh,” she breathed, and it was a struggle not to keep staring at her, my eyes drinking her in. “I’m not very hungry. Is it okay if I just stay here for a while? I always forget how much better a bath makes me feel.”
“That’s fine. I’ll put the food in the fridge, and you can have it later if you like.”
I moved to leave, but she reached out, catching my hand. “Don’t go. Stay. Talk to me.” She paused, and some of her earlier pain re-emerged. “I don’t want to be alone.”
If I stayed, I was in danger of touching her, but maybe … maybe if my hands were busy. Before I could properly think through the thought, I typed, “Can I draw you?”
Maggie inhaled sharply, her pretty blue eyes flaring. “What? Like this?”
I nodded, and heat bloomed on her neck. “Ah, um. I’m not sure.” Her eyes returned to mine, her indecision evident, but then, surprisingly, she blurted, “Okay, then. So long as I get to keep the picture.”
“Of course,” I typed, then went to grab a pencil and my sketchpad. When I returned, Maggie’s eyes were closed. She looked almost serene, but then, when I sat and balanced the sketchpad on my lap, I noticed her pulse quickening, a delicate flicker in her neck. She was nervous. To be honest, I was, too. I’d drawn people before, even naked ones, but never someone I was attracted to and certainly not someone I wanted as ferociously as I wanted Maggie.
I began to draw her when she asked, “Have you ever drawn someone nude before? Well”—she laughed nervously—“I guess this isn’t technically a nude because I’m mostly covered, but—”
I put down my pencil and typed into my phone. “I’ve drawn people nude. When I was in art college.”
Her eyes opened, and she sat up a little. It caused her breasts to rise, revealing more of her lush curves. An agonised look must’ve crossed my face because she quickly lowered back down into the water. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly before continuing, “You went to art college?”
“NCAD, yes, but I never completed my degree.”
“Oh. Why not?”
“I can’t keep typing if I’m to draw you,” I answered, not really wanting to talk about my abandoned education. “Those bubbles won’t last forever.” I shot her a heated look, and she grew flustered, closing her eyes again.
