6
OFFERING A SHOWER and a bed to a woman he couldn’t have—but wanted so much his nuts ached—had to rank up there among the stupidest things Jack had ever done in his life. Maybe not as stupid as the time he’d tried bungee jumping off a bridge in California, or when he’d scuba dived with sharks in Australia, but pretty stupid all the same.
The house had only one bathroom. It was upstairs, between the two bedrooms, and he listened to every move Kate made in there. He could swear he heard a metallic hiss as she unfastened the zipper of her jeans, followed by a whoosh of air as she dropped her clothes to the floor. Then the rustling of the shower curtain as it opened, the water starting, her tiny gasp as she tested the temperature and found it too hot. Or too cold.
Jack gave up trying to sleep. Sliding closer to the wall in her small, twin-size bed, he listened intently. The gurgling rush of the water from the faucet changed to a sizzling stream emerging from the showerhead. She stepped into the tub, closing the curtain behind her. Then she dropped something—the soap? As she retrieved it, her hand knocked against the tub just inches from his head. He swallowed hard.
She began to hum. Off-key. Not Benatar now, but some other old rock tune he couldn’t place.
Soon there was nothing but the pounding cascade of water, muted when her body was beneath it, harder as it struck the tub when she had stepped out of the stream to wash.
That was the hardest. Imagining her rubbing a soapy wash-cloth, or, better yet, her bare hand, over her skin. Easing the tight muscles of her neck. Kneading the kinks out of her shoulders. He closed his eyes and pictured the slide of her hands down her body. The way her fingers would look on her throat, her breasts, her thighs. And between them.
He shuddered. Probably the only thing he could imagine being as arousing as touching her himself would be to watch Kate’s hands on her own body. Giving herself pleasure, the way she said she had here, in this very bed, a few weeks back.
He groaned and pulled the pillow over his face, dying for sleep…for release. Both thoroughly eluded him.
Her long shower continued. Hurry up, would you? He had a feeling he was going to need to take a cold one of his own.
Jack imagined sharing one with her. It would be incredible. He’d barely gotten to taste her at the theater and his mind flooded with images of sitting beneath her in the shower. Looking up at her. Holding her hips in his hands and tilting her soft thatch of dark curls toward his hungry mouth to taste her, indulge in her, positively inhale her.
Only after he’d had his fill would he stand up, turning her to face away while he stood behind her. She’d lift one foot, resting it on the side of the tub. He could picture her hand, flat against the tile wall for support, her red-tinted nails a stark contrast to the cream-colored tiles. Her fingers would clench then widen as he stepped closer and she felt his body press against her back, his hard-on slipping between her legs.
He’d have to touch her. He’d reach his hand around, caressing her breast, then her belly. Then lower, until he could slide his fingers into her slick crevice, testing her readiness. Pleased at how wet she was for him.
She’d bend forward slightly, arching her back, turning to look over her shoulder at him with wide, passion-filled eyes that screamed “Take me now.” He’d tease her, not giving in to her demands yet, taking time to kiss the tiny little bones on her spine until he heard her whimper in anticipation.
Then he’d give her what she wanted, sliding into her from behind, slowly, until he was so deep inside her they couldn’t distinguish their bodies from one another.
They’d pause, the hot water pelting them as they savored the connection. They’d be inundated with the scent of the soap and her lemon shampoo. And the thick, heady smell of sex.
She’d bend lower, tempting him with the curve of her hips and her perfect rear. The visual would join with all his other senses to overwhelm him and he’d have to move. Faster. Getting caught up in her tight heat, having to bend over her, holding her hips and driving them both into oblivion.
“Stop, you idiot,” he muttered with a gasp.
He almost came in her bed. It took all his concentration to grab his last bit of control to prevent his body’s reaction. Calling himself an a*shole, he lay there for a few moments, thinking of prostate exams, Brussels sprouts and wrinkled geriatric patients. Anything unappealing.
It wasn’t easy; it didn’t help his erection subside, but he managed to avoid having to make a sneaky, middle of the night sheet change as he had a few times during puberty.
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d come so close to climaxing just from thinking about a woman. Considering Kate was all he’d thought about for weeks, maybe it wasn’t so surprising.
He still couldn’t believe she was here, not only here in this house, but in Pleasantville at all. From some of the things he’d heard, Kate and the rest of her family hadn’t been treated too nicely in the old days. He only hoped she wouldn’t hear any of the rumors about her mother while she was in town. He knew she couldn’t possibly be aware of the truth…if she were, she’d never have spoken to him once she found out who he was.
If she ever did find out, she’d hate his guts, thinking him just another snobby Winfield out to nail a trashy Tremaine.
Wrong. So wrong. He’d been fascinated by her, wildly attracted to her, dazzled by her, back when he didn’t even know her name. He didn’t remember another better sexual encounter in his life than the one they’d shared on the stage. Completely spontaneous, passionate, fulfilling. If her last name—or his—had been anything else, he would have spent every night since then in her bed. Guaran-damn-tee it.
And during each one of those nights, he would have worked to remove the sadness he sometimes saw in her eyes, and the anger he’d heard in her voice. Particularly tonight, next door, when her sarcasm hadn’t been able to disguise her hurt.
He made it his goal, then and there, to do exactly that. But not here, not in her mother’s house, in this town that sucked the soul right out of her. The only place he’d seen her truly happy, passionate and excited was at the Rialto. That was the Kate he wanted to seduce—but he had a feeling he wouldn’t find her again until they returned to Chicago.
And until Jack wiped the slate clean regarding his father.
In the meantime he’d control himself, keeping his libido firmly in check. “Yeah, right,” he muttered.
Just when he wondered if she was ever going to get out of the shower, he heard the water turn off. “Thank God,” he muttered.
The plastic rings clinked against the metal rod as she pulled back the curtain. Then silence, for one long moment, until he heard her voice. “Jack? You awake?”
Was he awake? How could he not be awake when three-quarters of his blood supply was centered in his groin? It was a miracle he hadn’t passed out from lack of blood flow to the brain.
“Yeah,” he said. Realizing he’d spoken in a whisper, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, Kate, did you need me?”
“I don’t have a towel.”
No towel. Perfect.
Tempted to tell her to stay in there and drip dry—quietly—until he could get control over his raging libido, he sighed and sat up in the bed. Throwing back the sheet, which had felt cumbersome and heavy against his naked body anyway, he reached for his sweatpants. He couldn’t find them.
“They’re too hot, anyway,” he muttered in disgust. Instead, he grabbed a pair of gray boxer briefs and tugged them on. It wasn’t as if the woman hadn’t seen him naked already.
They were uncomfortably tight. Too damn bad.
Walking out of the bedroom to the small linen closet out on the landing, he grabbed the top two towels on a stack and knocked on the bathroom door. “I’ve got two for you, just in case.”
“Great. I don’t have a robe, so I can wrap up in one.”
Jack gritted his teeth.
“You can leave them on the counter,” she continued.
Pushing the door open several inches, he reached in, intending to drop the towels and go. The shower was behind the door, no way would he see anything. He figured she was hiding in there, fully covered by the flowery plastic curtain, and certainly didn’t consider trying to sneak a peek. He was already horny enough, thanks so very much. Even a glimpse at her naked body behind the curtain could have him coming in his briefs.
Jack hadn’t counted on the mirror. As he dropped the towels, he glanced up and met her eyes in the reflection. The cold air from the hall had seeped in when he opened the door. Where it met the glass, the misty steam rapidly began to evaporate. She was not cowering behind the curtain, probably having assumed he couldn’t see her from around the nearly closed door. But see her he did.
Her brown eyes widened in her creamy pale face as their stares met in the mirror. Her lips were parted, droplets of moisture falling down her cheeks toward them. She slowly licked one away. He had to clutch the doorknob for balance.
Swallowing and taking in a deep, shaky breath, he lowered his eyes, staring at the long, wet hair that hung over her shoulders. Jack couldn’t have prevented his gaze from shifting even lower if someone held a gun to his head. So he looked, seeing a few strands of hair draping her breasts, though not completely covering them. Her dark, puckered nipples were easily visible. His mouth went dry as his pulse sped up.
She said nothing, didn’t make a move, just watched him watch her. He kept looking, at the curve of her waist, that wet thatch of brown curls between her slim thighs.
Then his stare shifted to her hip where a purplish bruise marred the pale perfection of her skin. “What happened to you?”
She seemed to awaken from her daze. Snatching the edge of the curtain, she pulled it over herself, until only her face was visible. He wondered what she’d do if she knew he had a perfect view of one breast and puckered nipple peeking between the leaves of two roses on the plastic curtain. He thought it wise not to point it out. “Tell me.”
“You can leave now.”
“I mean it, Kate, what happened to your hip? You’ve got a horrible bruise.” He clenched his fists. “Did someone hurt you?”
Obviously seeing he wasn’t going to go away until she explained, she said, “You did, you big jerk. When you tackled me earlier.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” Pushing the door farther, he stepped inside and turned to face her. “I didn’t realize I’d injured you. Let me see it.”
She didn’t answer. Her attention was firmly fixed low on his body. Her lips parted as she saw the erection he couldn’t hide. “I think you should go.” Her voice was thin and reedy.
Seeing her injury had nearly made him forget the almost painful urge between his own legs. He could only imagine what she thought. He thrust the concern away, not caring right now if she wondered what he’d been doing in her old bedroom while she’d showered. “Let me see your hip.”
She shook her head, slowly, not saying anything. But she didn’t resist as he gently pulled the edge of the shower curtain from her fingers and tugged it over a few inches so he could see the side of her body. She still said nothing as he dropped to his knees to examine the reddish-purple bruise on her hipbone.
The size of his palm, it must have hurt like hell. “I’m so sorry. Can I get you some ice for it?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the towel.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s not a big deal, Jack. I’m fair-skinned, I bruise easily.” Her voice still sounded shaky. “I can barely feel it.”
He touched the bruise with the tip of his index finger. When she winced, he yanked his finger away. “Liar.”
Then, almost unable to resist, he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on the bruise. When she moaned, he pulled back. “Did I hurt you again?”
“No. You didn’t…hurt me.”
He leaned forward again to gently kiss her skin. He avoided the tender bruised area. Instead he kissed her all around it, caressing her waist, her upper thigh. Unable to resist, he moved to that vulnerable hollow of flesh between her pelvic bone and the still-concealed dark thatch of curls hiding her feminine secrets. The curtain shifted slightly, as if she’d let go of it. When he glanced up, he saw her eyes closed, her head tipped back and her hand on her throat.
“Better?”
She groaned. “You’re trying to kiss it and make it better?”
He nodded, his lips still brushing her skin as he inhaled her, breathing in the smell of her clean skin. And the unmistakable, musky scent of aroused woman. “Is it working?”
“I can’t tell yet.”
He chuckled, knowing she wanted more. He gave it to her, now kissing her more deeply, flicking his tongue over her moist body, licking the water off her hip and thigh. She shuddered and he moved his hand up to steady her. He held her leg, then higher, to cup her rear. Her scent filled his brain, drawing his mouth closer to the edge of the plastic curtain, which barely concealed her curls. He remembered the hot, sweet taste of her on his tongue, the tenderness of that beautiful pink flesh between her legs. He wanted to taste her again. Wanted to feel her, touch her, have her. He pulled her tighter against him, unable to resist the feel of her skin against his cheek, fighting a battle deep within himself.
His mind told him no even after his body had decided yes.
When she hissed, he realized he’d pressed too hard against her bruise. “I’m sorry, you really are in pain.” He looked up and saw her flushed face, her parted lips.
Well, she didn’t look entirely pained. She also looked very aroused, very…close. Hot satisfaction at having brought her to the brink swept through him. He’d seen her this way in his dreams. Every night since the night they’d met.
Shit.
Unless he was prepared to forget all about his decision to be a decent guy and not make love to her again while they were here in Pleasantville, he needed to exit stage left. Immediately if not sooner.
He stood, trying not to notice that the curtain had moved farther to the side, completely baring one perfect breast and delicious puckered nipple. Remembering how sensitive she was there made his feet freeze and his hands clench.
“I’m going to get you some ice,” he finally said tightly. He somehow found the strength to turn and walk out of the bathroom.
Kate watched him leave, then let out a long, shuddery breath. “Not one of your brightest ideas, Kate Jones.”
No. Not smart. She’d come into the bathroom knowing full well there were no towels. She’d had one thing in mind. Okay, two, if she counted washing away the grime of several hours’ worth of driving. Even more than cleanliness, however, she’d wanted payback. Just a tiny bit of satisfaction by way of some brief shower exhibitionism. The way Jack had walked away from her next door—after commenting on how she’d had to pleasure herself in her bed the day they’d met—had pricked her ego. Not to mention her libido.
Damned if she hadn’t wanted to prick his, too.
Hence the naked-in-the-shower-without-a-towel bit. Okay, so it was sneaky, though, she really hadn’t intended for him to see her reflection completely. She’d figured there would be only a foggy image to get his imagination racing and give him some sleepless hours tonight.
Once their eyes had met and she’d seen the heat in his stare, her will had fled as quickly as the steam on the mirror.
She’d certainly been repaid in full. Because, man, oh man, she’d been the one left shaking and unfulfilled. Yes, she’d brought him to his knees, literally. But looking down, seeing him with his mouth and tongue on her body, so warm, so tender, so close to where she’d wanted him to be—had been agony.
“I can’t believe you just left,” she whispered angrily as she got out of the tub, grabbed one of the towels off the counter and began drying off.
His quick departure rankled. No, she wasn’t going to sleep with him, she’d already decided. Getting further involved with him would be about as stupid as sitting in a tub full of water and turning on the hair dryer.
Good analogy. He could fry her brains and she knew it.
Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t want him to want her. She had to admit, if only to herself in the quiet bathroom—it bugged her that he’d walked away, that he’d been able to walk away. If the fit of his briefs was any indication, he had not been physically unaffected by her.
Which meant he didn’t want her mentally.
“Well, doesn’t this suck eggs,” she muttered. The first guy she’d had sex with in two years, and it wasn’t even good enough to make him want seconds, not even when she had been wet and naked right in front of him.
Frowning, she moved faster, drying her body in quick, almost rough strokes. She winced as the cotton scraped across her bruised hip. Biting her lip, she looked at it in the mirror and winced. Okay, yes, an ice pack would be good.
Tucking the towel around her body, sarong-style, she reached for the other one and used it to dry her hair.
“I can think of a better use for an ice pack,” she muttered. If she truly wanted to feel better, she should put the damn thing between her legs to try to cool herself off where she was really aching.
But cold, hard ice wasn’t what she wanted between her legs. She wanted hot, hard man. One big, hot, hard man.
“No way, Kate. It’s a Hugh Jackman fantasy and a vibrating fingertip for you tonight,” she muttered as she bent to wrap the towel around her hair.
“Vibrating fingertip?”
Still bent at the waist, she winced, hoping those weren’t Jack’s sexy bare feet she spied right outside the partly open doorway. Praying that hadn’t been his voice and he hadn’t heard her comment about needing to get herself off with an actor fantasy and a vibrator.
She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the feet were still there. And she was still bent in front of him like some kowtowing servant. He’d heard.
Kate knew she had three choices—ignore him, pretend he’d misunderstood or be bold and shameless about the whole thing. Knowing what Cassie would do—what any self-respecting Tremaine woman should do—she took a deep breath. Brazen it out.
“Yeah, a vibrating fingertip,” she said, standing and twisting the towel so it would stay on her hair. Her upraised arm caused the towel wrapped around her body to loosen. As it began to slip, she caught it at the tip of her breasts, and tucked it back together. Then she risked a glance at Jack. His chest was moving rapidly, as if he had to struggle to breathe.
She had a feeling it wasn’t the lingering steam in the bathroom making him gasp.
Thank heaven.
“It’s actually a clever little vibrator that slips over your finger and feels…mmm…so good.” She licked her lips. “I have it right here in my purse, and can take care of myself anytime I want,” she added, not knowing how she could be stupid enough to step even closer to the fire in which he could consume her. But step she did. Then even closer. “Would you like me to show it to you?” She lowered her voice. “I remember you’re the kind of man who appreciates visual images.”
Jack’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. “Sit down.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he said, his voice low and thick. “Sit down, Kate.”
He stepped closer. Not waiting for her to obey, he instead pushed her with the tip of his index finger until she backed up against the bathroom counter. Sliding up to sit on it, she held her breath, wondering what he would do next, wondering what she’d begun…and if she dared to finish it.
Had she gone too far? Her intention had been to taunt, to arouse, then to walk away leaving him to imagine her touching herself in another room in the house. Somehow, though, things had changed. He’d taken control of the situation.
She didn’t pause to evaluate why she didn’t care.
He reached for her thighs, tugging her closer to the edge of the counter. Then he gently eased her knees apart.
She shuddered. “Jack, I…”
“You don’t have to take care of yourself.”
Her eyes widened and her heart pounded with the primal rhythms of a tribal drum in her chest.
“I’m going to take care of you this time,” he whispered.
She held her breath as he reached for her towel, tugging it open at the bottom, exposing one thigh all the way up to her hip. The other flap of the towel remained over her lap, caught almost coyly between her thighs. He made no effort to tug it free, instead trailing his fingers on her flesh in a slow, gentle caress.
Kate closed her eyes, waiting for a voice to scream in her head, telling her to stop, to not be taken in by him again. Great sex and a whole bunch of earth-shaking orgasms won’t cancel out the hurt of his disinterest later.
Who the hell was she kidding? Right now, at this very moment, great sex and a whole bunch of orgasms would be worth just about anything, including a kidney or her firstborn child.
It was only when she felt the frigidly cold water splash on her leg, and the colder ice pack connect with her aching bruise, that she realized what he’d meant by taking care of her.
“You’re taking care of my hip.”
He nodded. Only a tiny twitch of his lips told her he knew what she’d been picturing him taking care of.
Touché. Score one for Mr. Gorgeous. She almost groaned out loud. But she didn’t. This game wasn’t over yet. Especially because he did not simply leave the pack in her capable hands and walk out of the room. No. He stayed, holding it against her skin, still standing between her knees. His jaw remained rigid as he sucked in deep breaths, as if he were trying to control himself by sheer force of will.
She dared a quick glance down. Those tight briefs can’t lie, sweetheart. She almost purred with satisfaction at the sight of his immense hard-on. A small spot of moisture on the gray cotton tempted her beyond belief. She wanted to touch it, taste it with her tongue. Wanted to have him explosive, hot and wet in her hand. Her mouth. Her body. All three.
Smiling slightly, she murmured, “Thank you for the ice.”
“I really am sorry I hurt you,” he rasped.
Her hip? Her heart? Her feelings? He didn’t clarify. She didn’t ask.
“Funny thing, ice. So cold, it’s almost painful. Yet it’s…pleasurable in a way. Makes me feel tingly.”
“Tingly?”
“Yeah. Almost…hot. As strange as that sounds.”
“Shut up, Kate, you’re breaking my concentration.”
She grinned. “Uh, sure. I know it takes a lot of concentration to hold an ice pack on someone. I mean, I’m sure that’s why there’s such a high turnover rate in the candy striper field…all that ice pack holding. Sheer torture.”
His bare shoulders—so thick, broad and toned—shook as he chuckled. Darn, he’d succeeded in distracting her. The laughter hadn’t changed the way she felt, though. She shifted, not feigning her discomfort on the hard surface of the small counter. She was wet and throbbing, sensitive and needy, and the countertop didn’t help things. “This isn’t the most comfortable place to sit. It’s almost as hard as that table at the Rialto.”
His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at the ice pack, holding it steady. Now and then, though, she’d feel his fingers shift, feel him touch her, just the tip of an index finger on her hipbone. So light and fleeting at first she thought she’d imagined it. Now she ached for it.
“So, you never answered my question, Jack.”
“What question?”
“About whether you want to see my little toy.”
“I thought you were joking.”
Reaching for her purse, she unzipped a side pouch and pulled out the small carrying case.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, staring at the plastic pouch. His stare never wavered as she flicked the snap open with her thumb.
“One of the hottest sellers at Bare Essentials.”
“Your store?”
Nodding, she ran her fingers along the tip of the vibrator, knowing he paid very close attention.
“You sell vibrators in your ladies’ shop?”
She tsked. “You never did go back and find that article, did you, Jack? If you had, you’d know that Bare Essentials isn’t a typical ladies store. We sell intimate items for women.”
“Like that,” he said, nodding toward the vibrator.
Smiling lazily. “Like this. And other things. Lots of delightful…other things.”
He raised a brow. “So, you own a porn shop?”
She sniffed. “Bare Essentials does not sell pornography. We have lots of fun, sexy toys for ladies and couples. People come from other cities to shop for our lingerie, which is designed by my partner. We have a media section, with tasteful, instructional books. Plus erotic videos geared for women and couples. But nothing X-rated.”
“I’m not criticizing, Kate,” he said, obviously sensing her defensive reaction. “I’m fascinated. You have obviously made a big success for yourself. It’s not often you see the owner of a sex shop on the cover of the Chicago Business Journal. You should be very proud.”
Sensing he really wasn’t being judgmental, and finding herself refreshed by his attitude, she relaxed slightly. “We found a niche. A clean, tasteful, brightly lit place for women and monogamous but adventurous couples—who are our biggest client base—to shop for special items. Bringing sex out of the seedy dark rooms or brown-paper-wrapped catalogs, and into the bright light of Michigan Avenue.” Some demon made her add, “Complete with guest sex therapist lecturers, and the best selection of dildoes and cock rings in the state.”
“Oh, so we’re back to that, are we?”
“What?”
“This game of up the ante again. Trying to shock and tempt me some more.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. “Sure you do. The way you’re running your fingers over that thing, like you don’t know I’m watching, as if you don’t think I’m picturing you touching yourself like that.” His voice lowered. “Turning it on and moving it over every sensitive inch of your body.”
Taking in a shaky breath, she pulled the vibrator out of the pouch. “Are you?”
“You know damn well I am.”
She clipped it onto her middle finger.
He continued. “Just like you knew how I’d react to you naked in the shower. The forgotten towel. The vibrating finger comment.”
“I really didn’t know you were there when I said that,” she murmured. Turning the vibrator on, she ran it across her shoulder to her collarbone, then her throat. Lower, over the curves of her breasts. Goose bumps rose on her skin. Beneath the towel, she felt her nipples grow even harder, until they scraped almost painfully against the cotton fabric.
Heat, stark and intense, flashed in Jack’s eyes as he watched her. He silently dared her on, and she answered his challenge. Running the tiny device down the edge of the towel, she followed the seam down to her stomach. Lower. Until her hand rested on her lap and the vibrator kissed the inside of her thigh. Its hum was the only sound in the room, other than the faint rasp of Jack’s labored breathing. And her own.
Pausing, she curled her lips into a sultry smile, warning him that she wasn’t going to stop. Not unless he stopped her.
He didn’t move a muscle.
Kate slid her hand beneath the towel.
“Mmm.” She moaned as she scraped her fingertip across the curls between her legs.
“Enough.” He dropped the ice pack and caught her wrist in his hand, clenching it tightly.
“I’ve barely started.” She knew he could hear both the challenge and the promise in her voice.
He shook his head. “You’ve done what you set out to do, Kate. Hell, you did that the minute I saw you next door earlier.” He let go of her wrist and took a step back. “You want me to want you. You want me crazy with wanting you.”
Well, yeah!
“Mission accomplished.”
He didn’t try to do anything about it. He’d admitted it, but made no move to kiss her, to touch her.
“You’ve won. I concede. Now you need to stop.”
His lips said stop. His eyes begged her to proceed. She moved her fingertip, letting her lips fall open in a pleasureful sigh as the vibrator skimmed across her throbbing *oris. She knew he was going crazy, imagining what she was doing, but not really able to tell because of the discreet draping of the towel over her hand. “You’re sure you want me…to stop?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes.”
Liar. With a quick glance down, she saw that his body was still raring to go.
“The timing’s bad on this, Kate,” he said. “Really bad.”
Obviously his mind was not raring to go.
“Bad timing. Right. There’s a good reason for me not to give myself the orgasm I’m dying for,” Kate said. “This has nothing to do with you, anyway.”
“It has everything to do with me.” He stepped closer, putting both his hands flat on the counter on each side of her hips. Leaning in until his face was inches from hers, he admitted, “I want to take you right here and now, fast and hard and furious, just like you’re begging for…like it was that first night.” His gaze dropped to her lips, to the towel, which had loosened again and barely clung to her body. As if he couldn’t resist, his hands moved closer, until they touched her thighs. His fingers were cold from the ice pack, but it wasn’t cold that made her gasp. It was the heat of his touch.
“Then I want to take you to bed, kiss away the pain on your hip, spend hours exploring your body and make love to you in ways you’ve never even dreamed of,” he finally said, his voice ragged and full of need.
His expression told her he could, too. So do it.
“But not tonight, Kate. Not now.” He straightened and stepped back. “Definitely not here.”
Once she was able to think again—once her heart started beating again—she told herself it didn’t matter, that she had never planned to have sex with him tonight anyway. And he was right, she couldn’t imagine a worse place to have sex with Jack Winfield than in the same house where their parents had probably spent intimate time together.
She flipped off the vibrator. “Sure.” After tightening the towel around her chest, she slid off the counter. “Look, maybe I wasn’t playing nicely. Maybe I was being unfair, trying to pay you back a little for not calling.”
“I figured as much. And I’m sorry.”
He didn’t try to explain. Made no effort to tell her what had happened, what had changed between that night in the theater and two days later when he hadn’t called her.
She couldn’t ask him, of course. She instead relied on false bravado. “It really doesn’t matter. I got what I wanted. A little payback.” She glanced down at his body, making them both fully aware of his need for her. Then she smiled seductively.
“You go back to bed. Alone.” Stepping closer to walk around him and out the door, she continued. “While I go back to bed, too. With the mental image of a shirtless Hugh Jackman.” Holding up her hand, she glanced at the vibrator.
“And this.”