Aidan laughed, the severity of his expression softening with obvious affection. “You’re a handful, Hot Stuff.”
“So are you.” She shot a pointed glance at her overflowing hands. “More than a handful.”
Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, the tender gesture so at odds with the sinful way he stoked her desire. As he moved around her, running his hands all over her, her eyes slid closed on a sigh. Her blood was hot and sluggish, her mind lost in the sensual spell he wove so well. Low and deep within her, she ached, clenching in emptiness and expectation of what she knew was coming.
If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up. Never in her life had she known wanting like this, a need so intense she was panting with it, her knees weakening until he was forced to hold her upright with easy strength.
“Was it spring break in Cabo?” she asked breathlessly.
“Huh?” He pulled back to look down at her, revealing half-lidded eyes that couldn’t hide the burning lust within.
“When we met. Cabo San Lucas. That’s the last time I remember that I can’t remember.”
“Ah…I get it. No.” Catching her shoulders, he spun her away from him, and a moment later, his strong fingers were rubbing shampoo into her scalp.
She turned into a boneless puddle. He knew just how to touch her, kneading the tense muscles of her shoulders and stroking the length of her spine until all the anxiety of her nightmare washed down the drain. She felt the calluses on his palms and the strength he wielded with such care. When he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her backward into the spray with him, she leaned against him with a trust she shouldn’t feel, but did.
“But we’ve had sex,” she persisted, shivering at the thought of what it must have been like. He was in no rush, taking his time, as if he had an eternity, as if time didn’t exist for him. If he took the same care when making love…
He licked the wet shell of her ear. “Something like that.”
Turning in his arms, Lyssa leaned her head back and met blue eyes fringed with thick, wet lashes. “Something like sex?”
“Yep. Wash me.” He thrust the bottle into her hands. “I want to feel your hands on me.”
She shook her head as she reached for the soap. She almost told him no, just to curb his arrogance, but she wanted to touch him. So much that her palms itched with the need.
With soap-slicked fingertips, she slid her palms across his chest, marveling at the feel of his skin stretched taut over muscles that were hard as stone. His eyes closed on a low groan, his hands cupping her hips, his head falling back in a gesture of supplication that took her by surprise. Aidan was wallowing in her caresses, absorbing them, relishing every time she lingered in an especially susceptible spot.
It was riveting, the sight of so large and dangerous a man turned to putty in her hands. And he was dangerous, she knew. There was something in his eyes. They were ancient, wizened, jaded beyond his years. And something in the way he watched her, the way he moved, the note of command in every casual phrase. This man was never without his guard. Yet here he was. Bared to her in more than his appearance.
So she indulged, taking her time, washing his front from his head to his toes, then turning him and paying the same attention to his rear, which was just as magnificent.
When he faced her again, Lyssa positioned him beneath the spray and shifted her fingers through his hair, making sure every bit of shampoo was gone. She was so much shorter than he was, she had to lift onto her tippytoes to reach him. The loss of balance forced her to lean against him, her breasts to his chest. The hard, heavy length of his erect cock pressed into her stomach, but he made no move to take things further.
“I think I’m clean.” He stilled her roving hands with his own before pushing her gently away.
Lyssa bit her lower lip in embarrassment. Nodding her agreement, she pushed open the floating glass door and reached for the towel closest to her. She didn’t bother to dry herself. Instead she wrapped the towel beneath her arms and moved to the linen closet, taking out a fresh towel, which she thrust backward without turning her head. She heard the knobs turn and the water stop.
“Now you don’t want to look at me?” he asked softly, his fingers curling around hers, sending sharp awareness up her arm.
She tugged free and moved toward the door, restless and edgy with confusion and unsatisfied arousal. She didn’t know what to make of the fact that he had touched her so intimately, then pulled back. The hardness of his cock betrayed him, as did the dark hunger in his gaze, but he’d put on the brakes.
So why was he here at her house, driving her crazy, if he didn’t want to get laid?