Kiss & Hell (Hell #1)

“I swear to Christ, Delaney, I have no idea how I ended up here. I was off on that dismal, dreary plane you prismed me back to, and I admit, I was thinking about our predicament, and then wham, here I am.” His voice rumbled with gravelly irritation, leaving a vibration in her chest that made it tickle.

She squinted one eye open while water battered her face, keeping her chin up so she could only see from the tops of his shoulders up. She was in treacherous waters if she didn’t. What she found was a rather shamefaced demon, huddled in a corner, dwarfing her small shower space.

Wow. The demon was a gentleman. He really did have his eyes closed.

“Didn’t I tell you pink wasn’t a good color for you?” she chided, letting her hands slide to her breasts. Whether he was ogling them or not, modesty must prevail.

Clyde’s hand went to his head, pushing her shower cap up on his forehead. “Noted, and I have no clue how I ended up in this—it was just here on my head—I was just here. It’s like I said before, I keep ending up back here. With you. I’m convinced that has to mean something.”

“It means you’re ruining my shower. Wasn’t it enough that you screwed up Ghost Whisperer? I don’t get to indulge in a hot shower often because I hardly ever have hot water, and now you’re sucking it all up. So, please, I’m begging you, get out, and keep your eyes closed while you do it.” The last thing she needed was a critique from Body by Bowflex. Demon was definitely the new sexy.

“I can’t do that without opening my eyes, but I’d be happy to open my eyes—with your permission, of course.” His affable smile turned into another cocky smirk.

Her sigh filled the small shower with her exasperation. There was only one way out and that was by squeezing past her. The other half of her cheap shower doors didn’t open enough for someone as large as Clyde to get past. “Give me your hand. I’ll guide you out. You’re going to have to step around me, so watch those klunky feet.”

Clyde placed his hand in hers while she maneuvered him around her, biting the inside of her lip and sucking in her stomach to keep their bodies from touching—all while she kept her eyes affixed to his face. His grip was tight around her fingers, their wet flesh connecting and leaving a raw trail of jumpy nerves that sizzled along her arm.

When she tugged him around her body, their chests touched, the patches of hair he still had scraping deliciously across her nipples. Her gulp was thick, her head light. Delaney blew out a shaky breath before she spoke. “I’m going to open the shower door, so step up when I tell you to.”

“Okay,” he grunted, sticking his other hand out as a guide.

“Step up now.” Sliding the creaky door open, she fought the impulse to look down at his ass, knowing full well it’d be as hard and sculpted as the rest of him.

Though, seriously, what would a peek—just a quickety-quick glance—hurt? It was, after all, just a butt. Everyone had one. And while she noted that she definitely didn’t want to see everyone’s and she was overly curious about his, seeing Clyde’s wasn’t against the law. Her eyes, with a will of their own, cast downward.

Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat.

Everyone didn’t have one like that.

Holy ba-donk-a-donk. Woo to the hoo, baby.

Her face grew hot, her cheeks flaming though the water had grown cool. She darted her guilty, prying eyes back to his broad back just as Clyde stepped up and out of the tub, forgetting to let go of her hand and pulling her out behind him.

The wet slap of flesh as she lost her balance and fell into him, knocking him forward to the floor, was sharp, Clyde’s grunt when he hit the floor with her on his back, sharper still.

And then they were pressed together in a mass of crooked, bent limbs on her tiny bathroom floor.

Naked.

All this nekidity might have been redundant but for the fact that lying front side down on Clyde’s big back was, for the tiniest of moments, hawt, hawt, hawt.

His skin was supple, firm, slick with droplets of water. Delaney’s cheek fell to his shoulder, her nostrils flaring with the heady scent of man. She didn’t care that his neck was at an awkward angle, jammed up against the vanity, and she cared even less that his foot had been left hooked on the edge of the tub. It wasn’t every day she was able to indulge in the raw sexuality of a man. For as totally wrong as that thought probably was, she just wanted a moment . . . to linger . . . on top of Clyde . . .

“Delaney?”

“Hmmm?” Yes, she could fully acknowledge that was her voice doing a breathy Marilyn Monroe imitation.

“Please don’t take this as an insult, but I can’t breathe, and I think I might have broken my toe. So do you think you could get up? Please?”

Like now? When she was just getting the taste of her first real, live man in years? How selfish. But, an inner voice, scathing and derisive, reminded her, He’s not a live man, horn dog. Demon, remember?