'What's wrong?' Loud knocking on the door. 'Sophie?'
'Get it out!' Through the glass enclosure, she was aware of Jared bursting into the room but her eyes were pinned to the sight inches from her toes while she struggled to open the door. She finally got the door to slide and all but fell out of the shower, backing up as far away as she could. 'That … that … ' It was all she could get past her constricted throat.
Shutting the water off, Jared reached for the wooden handled back scrub hanging beneath the shower head and she screwed her eyes shut …
Water trickled down her cooling body as she clasped her arms around her and heard a series of loud knocks. A convulsive shiver shuddered down her spine. 'Oh, God.' She didn't want to know how he'd done it, only that he had. 'Is it dead? Is it gone?'
'It's dead.' She heard the toilet flush. 'And now it's gone.'
A tortured sigh escaped her lips. Only then did she take it all in. She was naked. He wore jeans, nothing else. She slid her eyes to his, willing him to do the same.
To his gentlemanly credit, his gaze remained locked with hers. Not even a flicker of a glance where it shouldn't go. He reached for a towel on the rail beside him, passed it to her.
'Thanks.' She grabbed it and pulled it in front of herself. Shivering. With cold or relief or excitement? 'Just so you know, I'm not one of those squealy women,' she felt compelled to point out. 'Normally. But those … ' She shuddered again.
'Okay.' He didn't move a muscle. But there was a flicker of movement at one corner of his mouth saying maybe he believed her, maybe not.
'I'm going to get back in there now,' she said, as much to herself as to him. Then another flesh-crawling thought … 'You don't think it came up the drain, do you? What if it has a mate somewhere … '
'I don't know. Maybe you should let me stay here and make sure.' There was a roguish light in those eyes, a hint of the devil in his chivalrous words. He reached into the stall and switched the water back on for her.
Then-and she didn't know what demon possessed her … yes she did and his name was Jared Sanderson-she tossed the towel on the floor and stepped under the water. 'Maybe I should.' Her heart was hammering, her blood coursing hotly through her veins. Take a chance, be that sensual woman you want to be. Knowing she was starting something she might not be able to stop, keeping her back to him, she dangled her soap-filled sponge-on-a-string over one shoulder. 'And maybe I should let you be useful and wash my back while you wait.'
She felt him take the sponge and, oh, that first glide across her shoulders was warm, slow and reassuringly impersonal. Another pass, this time down her spine, stopping at her waist. Then pressure at the base of her neck.
She inhaled sharply. 'That's not my sponge … '
'No.'
Thumbs. Working tensed muscles in her neck. Then hands. Slick, soapy hands that began at her nape and slid across her shoulders. Down either side of her spine and over the curve of her waist, fingers both tantalisingly close to the sides of her breasts and frustratingly far away.
And she maybe shouldn't have let him start … Her breathing grew heavy. So did her breasts-heavy and tight and full. She wanted to turn around and let him give them the same slow, slick attention.
His hands slid lower and cupped her bottom. Her feminine core grew hot, her breaths quickened. But when his thumbs dipped between her butt cheeks, then lightly down the backs of her thighs, her legs sagged and she braced her hands on the tiles in front of her for support. 'Jared.'
'Right here, honey,' he murmured, his lips so close she could feel his breath hot on her ear. He'd stepped into the shower-she could smell the wet denim-but the only part of him in contact with her were his hands.
And what contact.
'This was a bad idea … ' She gasped when his exploration grew bolder, his fingers delved deeper. Too deep. Not nearly deep enough …
'You don't really think that,' he assured her.
'Oh. Yes. I. Do.' She was so breathless she couldn't seem to get out more than one word at a time between shallow gulps of air.
'So you want me to stop … ' His hands moved away.
'Yes. No,' she moaned.
She heard his soft chuckle, then sent up a prayer of thanks when his newly soaped-up hands skimmed her waist and came around to cup her breasts. Holding their weight in his palms, he massaged and teased, swirling his fingertips around her tight nipples and sending sensation spiralling to her core and lower, between her thighs.
Steam billowed and swirled around them like an intimate cloak. Just the two of them in their own private steam bath. The water pelting her now oversensitised body felt like hot hailstones and sounded harsh in the stall's confines.
She squirmed as the ache between her legs intensified. Moving her legs farther apart, she arched her back and begged him silently to, 'Touch me.'
She hadn't realised she'd spoken aloud but her whispered plea sounded harsh and desperate in the humid air and not like her at all. And then one of his hands was between her thighs, fingernails cruising along her slippery cleft, the fingers of his other hand rolling a nipple, teasing it into almost unbearable hardness.
'Like this?' he whispered against her ear and plunged his fingers inside her. He withdrew them slowly, drawing out the wetness along her sensitised flesh and making her moan some more.
Her legs trembled like stalks of wheat in a rain storm. She leaned her forehead against the cool tiles as well as her hands. 'Yes.' Exactly like that.
He repeated his exquisite torture. And again. Over and over, each thrust of his fingers more erotic, more persuasive. His lips nuzzled her neck then bit gently, possessively, and his voice was thick with arousal when he said, 'You're so hot. So deliciously wet.'
His explicit words, the skilful way he touched her, as if he'd known her body for years, the sound of his voice against her ear sent her soaring up, up, up. Over the silky precipice on a low heartfelt cry, her body convulsing around his fingers.
'Oh. Wow,' she whispered when she'd got her breath back. His hands trailed over her thighs, then away.
But when she finally turned, she saw nothing but steam and a trail of water across the tiles. He was gone.
Like a dream.
How did you walk into a room to face your boss as if you hadn't just been given the most intense orgasm of your life? Sophie wondered as she stared at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She adjusted the collar on the cream dress and asked herself how did you face that boss, the one who'd given you that orgasm, over a business dinner as if your private parts weren't still on fire and already aching for more?
Grabbing her jacket and purse from the chair, she headed for the living room. She was about to find out.
He was wearing a charcoal suit and baby-blue pinstriped shirt with matching blue tie and watching the local news on the ginormous flat-screen TV on the wall. His short hair was still damp and his fresh foresty scent drifted in the warm air.
His gaze flicked to hers across the expanse of tiled floor. Dark, hungry, slightly desperate. As if he wanted to eat her alive and wanted nothing to do with her at the same time. And she could hardly blame him. As earth-shattering as her climax had been, it hadn't exactly been a mutually shared and satisfying experience.
'Hi,' she said, since he didn't seem inclined to speak.
He looked her up and down, then his eyes lingered on her bare legs and she saw his jaw clench.
'Is it too short? It's too short.' She should have gone for the mid-calf green instead of the above-the-knee. Thoughtless under the circumstances. 'I'll ch-'
'It's not too short.' He cleared the huskiness from his throat and a little of the tension eased from his features. 'It's fine just the way it is. You look lovely.'
'Thanks. So do you. Well, not lovely exactly,' she babbled on. 'More smart, savvy businessman.'
'I'm not sure how smart and savvy this businessman's going to be this evening.' Flicking off the TV with the remote, he crossed to her, curled hard fingers around her upper arms. 'I didn't play it too damn smart back there in the bathroom.' His olive-green eyes turned to unreadable slate and he dropped his hold as if he'd been stung.
Her cheeks burned, sparks shot through her bloodstream. Her body was already clamouring for an encore of his sexpertise and he regretted it?
Jared clamped his jaw shut. She looked like a fantasy in that nude-coloured dress and black shoes. And if he stood here a microsecond longer looking into those molten amber eyes and knowing he was responsible for putting the heat in them, he'd lose his tenuous hold on control and his smart savvy business reputation really would be a memory. Turning away, he strode to the door. 'Let's go.'