I turned the shower off and stepped out into the steamy bathroom, then grabbed a towel on the rack.
I dried myself off quickly, eager to join Sebastien in his bedroom which we were now officially sharing. I slipped my underwear on and walked down the hall to his room.
I found him sitting up in bed, shirtless, wearing only his tattered blue jeans—my beefcake dream come true. He was uncorking a bottle of wine. “Feel better now?” he asked and sniffed the air. “Oh, you naughty man. You used that soap I love. The one that makes me wild.”
“Yes, and you can use it, too. Instead of that Irish Spring crap.”
“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t go nuts over the smell of that Irish Spring on me. I’ve seen you smelling my clothes.”
He’d caught me. “Actually, every time I walk through the soap isl
