Sean selects a room at random from the yacht's cabins, guiding me into it with a warm hand in the small of my back. True to his word, Dorian's ship is stocked with a fine selection of French milled soaps, high-end shampoos and conditioners, and lavish body washes. There's more of the thick, plush towels like Sean has hitched around his hips on a tiny linen shelf in the room, and four more of the robes on hangers beneath the ledge of towels.
So many things have happened in the last twenty-four hours that I'd like some time alone to process everything while I wash, but that's not what I get.
