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“Never.” I arranged my feetaround her legs to get more comfortable. Even though it was atwo-person tub, I was six-three. No bathtub had ever been perfectlycomfortable.
“What would your dreambachelor party be?” Charlotte asked, sluicing water down her armsidly.
I considered briefly. “Vegas, maybe?Your brother wasn’t interested in that.”
“He thinks Vegas is a wasteof money and time.”
“Well, I love it there. Haveyou ever been?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Becausesomeone I trust said it’s a waste of money and time.”
“You trust me,” I pointedout. It wasn’t an arrogant assumption. She had to trust me, ifshe’d done everything she had with me. “I think it’s a lot of fun.Drink all day, gamble all night, maybe take in a cheesy revue oftopless showgirls?”
“And I hear there areawesome buffets,” she added. “Okay, you sold me. Maybe I’ll gosometime.”
“I have ahotel on the Strip,” I said without thinking. I stopped myselfbefore I could complete my thought, which had been,we should go together.Ididn’t want to sound clingy, after we’d agreed that this was aweekend fling. “You’re welcome to see Vegas on my dime. I’ll giveyou my secretary’s number.”
“Thanks. I probably will. IfI can find someone who’s been before and is willing to go with meand show me all the best stuff.”
I didn’t know how to interpret thatstatement. Did she want me to offer to take her to Vegas with me?Was that something I could do, or would it be crossing aline?
I settled on a vague, “Well, they canstay for free too.”
An uncomfortable quiet fell between us.I couldn’t remember that ever happening before.
“Thank you,” she said,finally breaking the silence. “This was a lot of fun. Bucket listfun.”
“Wow, bucket list,” I said,blinking in surprise. As wild as what we’d done had been, it wasnowhere near some of the stuff I’d done at my private resort.Against my better judgment, I said, “You know, I have a resort forthat kind of thing.”
“I know. I’ve heard ofAscend.”
But I’d bet she’d never heard of AscendRed. My invitation-only private island for perverts andkinksters.
I’ll get her theresomehow, my brain declaredconfidently.
My brain wasn’t supposed to be thinkingthings like that. My brain was supposed to remember that this wasone weekend only. That woman sitting in my bathtub was my bestfriend’s little sister, and he would have some kind of fatal attackif he found out what we’d been doing.
And the weird thing was, he’d have thatattack out of concern for me. Because he viewed his sister as somekind of man-eating she-goblin.
She swirled her fingers over thesurface of the already swirling water. “Aren’t resorts like thatfor middle-aged couples who want to swing? Not that I have anyproblem with middle-aged people—”
“I’m not middle-aged yet,” Icorrected her. I would consider myself middle-aged when I turnedfifty and not a day sooner.
“I didn’t mean you,” shesaid with a roll of her eyes. “I thought resorts like Ascend werewhere bored empty nesters went to reconnect after a quarter of acentury being married.”
“There’s some of that,” Iadmitted. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone should becomfortable exploring their sexuality. Not justtwenty-five-year-olds with perky tits.”
She splashed me.
“You should come to Ascendsometime,” I blurted.
“Can I tell everyone that Iknow the owner?” she asked, playing along as if I werejoking.
“The owner could be there.”I did some quick mental calculations to justify why it wouldn’tbreak our one-weekend plan. She would go home after the wedding. Wewouldn’t see each other for… however long it took her to get thetime to go on vacation again. “Have another casual hookupweekend?”
Her confident smile faltered.“Uh-oh.”
“What?”