Chapter 43 - The Towel (2/2)
”What, are you showering right in the middle of this bedroom? Why do I need to leave?”
”Hello?”
”Well, what I mean is, I'll wait for you to finish up so we can go together to the spa downstairs.”
”You'll go like that? You won't clean up first?”
Gabriel giggles. ”Are you suggesting we take a shower together?”
Jesus Henry Christ, this man. ”Of course, not! I was just wondering why I'm supposed to clean up and you're not.”
”I can clean up at the spa, you know.” He's still smiling. ”And besides, I'll have the butler bring up some breakfast. I'm famished.”
”Okay,” she says, standing up. She doesn't bother hiding her unbuttoned dress, but she doesn't care now. ”Alright, be my guest.”
”Thank you, Madam,” Gabriel says, snickering, and makes a curtsy so the ”Princess” can squeeze her way out of the tight space beside the bed.
Once in the bathroom, Claire immediately takes all her clothes off and leaves everything on the floor. She's tired and confused with all these feelings and it's not even noon yet. She turns the marble knob and discovers heaven: the water is just the perfect warmth. She lets the water run upon her, the water pressure gently ċȧrėssing her body. As she luxuriates in the shower, she thinks about the man outside the bathroom: Gabriel. What must he be thinking now? Does he think to himself: ”Oh, right at this very moment, Claire is nȧkėd and there's only this wall between us.” Claire smiles to herself—men are always like that. She's had her fair share of such men, but none has ever gotten past first base. The truth is, she's curious—how it must feel when you're doing it with the one you really love? What she knows about mȧkɨnġ ŀȯvė is limited to what she's seen in the movies or read in borderline raunchy literature—she doesn't know how it must feel when a man runs her lips all over your body, or when he ċȧrėsses you softly. She closes her eyes as she imagines it, unbidden—and before she realizes it, she's touching herself.
She jerks in shock—what is she doing? She holds up her hand and looks at the peculiar wetness. She sighs—for all she knows, she's not the one who drank the whisky. Why this odd behavior, this strange train of thoughts? Why does she feel this…longing?
It must be the strange context in which she'd woken up. Seeing a man sleeping beside her was a first in her life—and it was her boss, at that.
She turns the knob, choosing the cold water. She lets the chilly water shake her out of the fog of this confusing dėsɨrė. She lets the water run for a few more minutes, and stops only when she starts shivering from the cold.
She steps out of the shower, her hand grasping for the towel—and doesn't find it there.
She has no towel. She's dripping wet. She hesitates about asking Gabriel for a towel. ”Damn it,” she mutters, and opens the door just a bit. ”Gabriel?” she half-yells. ”Gabriel, can you get me a towel, please?”
No answer.
”Gabriel? Mr. Tan? Is anyone out there?”
Still no answer. Maybe Gabriel has left without telling her.
”Gabriel?” She peeks out of the bathroom door. She looks around. The suite is quiet. Yes, maybe he has already left. She got the suite finally all to herself.
Claire gingerly steps out, her wet feet leaving damp marks on the carpet. She's not sure where to find the towels, but the bedroom would be a good bet. Knowing that she's all alone in the room has banished her inhibitions, as she freely moved around nȧkėd.
She throws the wardrobe door wide open, but it's empty. She stops for a moment, trying to decide whether to call up Dale or Lucille the maid or continue searching the room. Then she recalls her first day in the suite, how she'd spent the afternoon in the Jacuzzi, gazing at the city below…Maybe there are towels in the glass cabinet beside the jetted tub? Worth a try. But she hasn't yet moved when she hears a voice behind her.
”Oh, my God, you're nȧkėd.”
She turns around and sees Gabriel standing at the doorway, his mouth hanging open.