Free Being Emerald by Sylvia Ryan Page B

Laila stiffly submerged herself at a snail’s pace, disappointed the erotic wash was over.
    He grabbed the sprayer again, and she closed her eyes, lifting her chin as he rinsed the conditioner out of her hair.
    Taking a deep breath, she opened herself up and searched his energy. He radiated calmness and gentleness. It soothed her.
    She’d made a point not to open herself to him for the entire day, as was her habit. She found out at an early age if she let everybody’s energy affect her, by the end of the day she’d be a wreck. Plus, she’d been irritated with him most of the afternoon and didn’t particularly care how he was feeling at the time. Her mood was beginning to return to normal now that the warm water eased her muscles. She lay back, happy and relaxed while he lifted each foot out of the water and fingered between her toes and along the soles, with the slick coat of bubbles easing the way.
    Rock submerged the sprayer head under the water and nudged her legs apart with it. She jack-knifed up and met his gaze.
    “You need to get off.” His tone was matter of fact. “Lean back.”
    “No. Stop it.”
    He did, immediately replacing the sprayer in its base by the faucet. Then, he crossed his arms and turned a stern expression to her. “We can do this one of two ways. You can either be totally honest and open with me, as I will be with you. Or you can pretend I don’t know exactly what you need.”
    They stared each other down.
    “Do it,” he whispered.
    With an aggravated sigh, she lay back against the tub, and he nudged her thighs apart.
    “Aggressive much?” She breathed.
    “You have no idea,” he said straight-faced as he grabbed the sprayer again.
    Laila closed her eyes, settled in, waiting for the jet of water to stimulate her.
    “Open your eyes. Keep them open.”
    “Why?”
    “Don’t question your training.”
    “This is not training.”
    He straightened, turned off the water and stood. “Baby, everything’s training. Now stand up.”
    For a few moments, she sat gaping at him, working hard to figure out what the fuck was going on with this man. She was pissed off all over again. He’d rejected her benefriends suggestion, worked her hard with no sympathy or compassion for her depleted body, told her he loved someone else, and now this? She didn’t think so. She eyed him as he held a towel open for her to walk into, wanting to tell him off, but she wimped out. Plus, he’d think her a raging bitch with wild mood swings if they ended yet another night with her over-the-top emotions. Instead, she stood.
    He wrapped the fluffy towel around her, his big tattooed arms lingering and lifting her out of the tub. He set her feet on the soft cotton bath mat. Rubbing briskly, he dried her hair and then took a thorough route, drying her from head to toe. Rock unceremoniously shoved her head through the hole of a T-shirt and motioned for her to put her arms through. After she’d followed his direction, he clasped her hand and led her to the bedroom. “Sit.” He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her into a sitting position on the edge of the bed then walked away.
    She was a second away from lying back and losing consciousness between the luxurious white covers when he returned with a wide-toothed comb in his hand. “If you lie down, you won’t be able to get back up again, and you need to eat.”
    He’d read her thoughts exactly. Unsettled, she swiveled her head to look over her shoulder as he sat at her side and hitched a leg up on the mattress behind her.
    “It wasn’t that hard. I’ve told you already you wear your thoughts and emotions like a headline running across your forehead. Keep working on it.”
    Raking his fingers through the wavy strands, he got out the large tangles, and then combed it out.
    She reveled in the feeling of his hands sliding over her long, damp hair.
    The back of his hand grazed her neck. The pad of his finger brushed across the shell of her ear. The incidental