‘Are you going to take off your clothes and join me or are you just going to stand there and get a good steaming?’
* * *
He felt like the heavens had opened and the holiest of light had descended into the steam of the bathroom. She, the woman who had invaded his sleeping and his waking, every second of his life for as long as his life had mattered, was inviting him to join her, to make love to her, to join himself to her. This was the stuff of his deepest, most moving fantasies.
The mist and the steam played over her body as though she was doing a sensuous veil dance for him, revealing, concealing, and revealing again. The alabaster curve of a hip, the luscious fruit mound of a breast, the delicate arch of her back, and God, she was exquisite, she was heaven on earth calling out to him as he had always dreamed she would.
The sound of her soft laugh was like the music of the gods. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘The water’s great. All right, I know you’ve already bathed, but there are other things we can do in the shower besides bathe.’
It was a bit jarring, her being so brazen. But he could understand, after all this time of waiting, how desperate her need for him must be, and he wouldn’t punish her for that when his need was at least as great. With his heart racing in his chest, he took another step forward and reached out his hand.
‘Hurry up, Garrett, we don’t have all day. It won’t be much fun for Stacie or for Harris if he shows up and you and I are still busy fucking in the shower.’
And it was as though she’d poured ice down his spine, but the cold gave way to hot, burning rage in the pit of his stomach, and agony that was nearly unbearable, the brutal, bitter reminder that she was still first and foremost a slut. That she expected it to be that bastard Thorne coming to whore with her, that she didn’t even for a second consider it might be him, it might be the one she was meant to be with. He felt it all like the stab and the twist of the knife, agony that ripped at him like sharp teeth. For the briefest of seconds, he thought his agony would drive him to his knees, but he couldn’t let it. He couldn’t let the want of her cloud his mind to the truth. He eased his hand onto the door of the shower and took a deep breath. Just a sharp twist to the neck, that was all that was needed, and she would torture him no more.
‘Garrett?’ A sudden chill rose up Kendra’s back and a clenching down deep in her chest that had nothing to do with arousal. She grabbed for the wall, feeling disoriented and muzzy-headed. ‘Garrett, what’s going on?’
There was a smell, a scent that wasn’t Garrett’s. She could barely make it out over the steam and the soap. She could almost believe she was imagining it. Almost. It was more feral, darker, and it clawed at the back of her throat like it was desperate to get inside, to lodge there unwanted. It was all so sudden, so confusing. There was a charge in the air, a charge that she could almost hear in Garrett’s silence. It crackled around the room like heat lightning, making her feel like something crawled beneath her skin on tiny barbed feet. ‘Damn it, Garrett, whatever you’re doing, it’s not funny. Now, are you coming in or not?’
Just as she reached a trembling hand to turn off the water to see what the problem was, the smell of something different, something that caused her heart to pound, something that had nothing to do with sex nearly overwhelmed her. Then she gave a little gasp of surprise as Garrett turned and practically ran out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
‘Fuck you,’ she said out loud, standing in the warm steam, fighting back tears. It’s not like she expected anything from him, or even wanted anything from him, but she didn’t appreciate him toying with her, playing games with her. For a long time she stood just breathing in and out, forcing her emotions to calm. This didn’t matter. This was just Garrett Thorne being Garrett Thorne. They had more important things to deal with than the fact that he was too chicken shit to shower with her when his ex was downstairs.
By the time she turned off the water and stepped out of the steam, she had resolved not to mention it to him. She’d let him bring it up. She wasn’t about to let him think that it mattered one way or another.
He stood a safe distance from all of the press vehicles and watched the gathering mob around Thorne’s house. It had taken him ages to regain his equilibrium. He had vomited his breakfast at the end of the alley after he’d made his escape. That was simply his body’s way of reminding him how close he’d come to ruining all of his carefully laid plans, his body’s way of purging itself of being so close to her powerful lust, being so close to her wicked influence, being inundated by the filth with which she now surrounded herself. If only he had found her sooner, then perhaps he could have made things easier on her, but not now. Now it was much too late for the easy path. A snap of the neck was a clean death, a hero’s death, a death of virtue. She deserved no such thing, and he had, all of his life, believed that people should get what they deserve. It was right. It was what should be. It was the reset button for the balance of the universe.