I frowned. “What about her?”
“You’re still looking for her address or employer, right? I know some people who might be able to help. And then, my lovely cop, we have some shopping to do.”
“Shopping?” I repeated, but he just stood up and held out his hand for me.
“Let’s get dressed.”
In fact, showering came before getting dressed, and despite the very real risk of shower sex throwing us off schedule, I agreed to share the stall.
“Don’t make me regret it,” I said when he reached down to tug at my pubic hair. “And don’t do that.”
“I think we may have one more task this morning,” he said, picking up a razor. “Not that I don’t love this deliciously neat triangle, but all the other dancers are bare.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “I’m not sure I can manage to shave there.”
His grin was full of mischief. “Baby, I’m more than happy to help.”
He positioned us so that we were out of the spray, but close enough that he could grab the handheld nozzle. And then, as I spread my legs and gripped the walls of the shower in both fear and an effort to steady myself, he went to work.
First, he lathered me. And then—slowly and very gently—he drew the razor over my flesh again and again. I was, I realized, getting more than a little turned on. Not from the sensation—though there was something about the pressure of the blade that felt amazing—but from the thought of him taking such intimate care of me.
“There,” he said, after he’d finished and rinsed the soap from me. He pressed a kiss to my newly shaved skin, and it was all I could do not to beg him to take me back to bed.
Amy, he’d said. And he was right. If I wanted to make sure she was back home for Candy’s baby, I needed to follow-up.
But I couldn’t deny myself one slow, deep kiss. And as my tongue sought his, I couldn’t help but think of the days that were ticking away, inexorably pulling me away from this man who, with every passing moment, seemed to draw me closer.
Afterward, I bundled myself in one of The Drake’s plush robes, then headed back into his room to hunt up my clothes. “This room is different from the rest of the place.” I’d noticed the contemporary decorations and furniture the first time I’d entered, but had never said as much to him. “You did it, right? Not the hotel staff.”
“It’s all me,” he said, stepping into the room with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, and making me regret very seriously that whole getting-to-work thing.
“Why this one? Why’d you take the time, I mean?”
“I’m particular about my bedroom.” He’d been looking past me into the room, but now he shifted his gaze to me. “Nothing goes in that I didn’t select.”
I swallowed, suddenly unsure if we were still talking about the furniture.
“So what do you think?”
I blinked. “About what?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners and, damn the man, I was certain he knew the direction of my thoughts.
“About the room.”
“I like it. It’s attractive and interesting, what with all the hard edges and angles. But it’s inviting, too. And somehow warm and comfortable.” I hesitated, then took the plunge. “It reminds me of you,” I admitted, because I simply couldn’t deny the truth in the words.
“Comfortable?” he repeated, his brows rising in mock horror. “I’m not sure I like that. Inviting works for me, though. So does chivalrous and desperately sexy.”
“Are we still talking about the room?”
“What else?” His smile was all innocent.
What else indeed.
I tossed him a saucy smile, bent to retrieve his pants and T-shirt that I’d worn in the park. “Thanks for the loan,” I said, “but the shirt has grass stains—and I’d rather have pants that fit. Do you think The Drake’s gift shop has clothes?”
“While I’m tempted to just keep you naked, you have clothes there,” he said, pointing to the dresser. “Top left drawer, I believe.”