Page 120 of Lavish

I felt her hand caress my cheek. “If you want, we can switch places. I can stay on site; you go into the office?”

I never liked the office. I hated staring at spreadsheets and zoning forms and permit requests. I’d do it when I had to, but that part of the job had always felt like dragging a dead weight behind me.

And…truth was, it was nice having Serena out there with me.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t trying to do everything. I wasn’t running around like a one-man crew trying to keep a sinking ship afloat. With her around, I could breathe. Focus on what I enjoyed. Actually building.

“Nah, I like things the way they are.”

Her fingers kept moving. “Your scalp’s dry.”

“You gonna shame me while you do my hair?” I teased.

“I might.” Her nails scraped gently over my temple.

A long silence passed.

Then I said, “You smell good.”

Her hands paused, just for a second. I felt her breath catch, then exhale like she hadn’t meant to hold it.

“You taste good too.”

“Miles…” Her voice sounded strained. “All done. Take a shower. Wash it. I’ll finish it off.”

I leaned in close, just to be an ass. “You gonna join me, or just supervise from the doorway?”

“Miles.”

“Yes,wife?”

She pointed toward the bathroom like it was exile. “Wash your ass.”

I nodded, and with tired legs, I went to the bathroom. The hot water hit my back, loosening the plaster from my skin, the sweat from my scalp. I took my time, part of me hoping she’d be join me in the shower.

She didn’t.

I stepped out, dried off, pulled on some sweats. When I came back out, Serena was waiting—fresh oil and a comb ready on the table beside her. No Doughboy on the couch, and luckily she’d changed the channel to ambiance music.

“Come on,” she said, patting the spot in front of her.

She poured a little oil into her palms, rubbed them together, and started working it through my hair.

“You’re good at this,” I murmured, eyes closed, relaxing into her touch.

“I watched a few videos,” she said, a small smile in her voice.

She parted a section, smoothed it, started a new braid.

A few more minutes passed in the quiet before I asked, “Do you think I’m fighting something hopeless?”

She paused, her fingers going still at the top of my scalp.

“What do you mean?”

“With Whitmore Ventures. With trying to bring it back. Sometimes it feels like I’m just rebuilding something that’s meant to stay broken.”

Serena didn’t answer right away. She finished the braid she was working on, sealed the end, and leaned forward just enough that I could feel the heat of her chest brush my back.