“Thanks.”
He left the room. Vanessa walked into her own bathroom and met her reflection in the mirror. She was still flushed. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and thought about the shower.
Then she thought about the night.
She thought about his words, and about the way he had behaved.
She winced, hesitated, caught her breath.
He was everything she wanted, as well. Yes, he was gorgeous, tall, bronzed, well muscled, with his striking, rugged and intriguing face. Classical features. Golden eyes. But it wasn’t just the tempting pull of his equally sculpted build.
It was the sea. The things he loved. The way he behaved. Even his bark when he was angry. Even the way he looked at her when he was wary, skeptical. It was in his movement, in his words.
She didn’t step into her own shower. She walked down the hall, knowing which room was his from days gone by. She listened and heard the sound of the water flowing in his shower.
“Sean?” She tentatively pushed open the door to his room and walked through it. The bathroom door was ajar and the water was flowing.
She stepped closer. “Sean?”
The shower curtain jerked open and he looked out, alert and anxious.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing!” she declared quickly. So much for being a femme fatale with a casual and sensual style.
“I—oh, God, I’m not at all good at this. I thought that maybe…we could shower together. I mean the way that you were speaking last night, it didn’t seem quite out of the question,” she said.
His shoulders eased. A broad smile slowly creased his features and he looked down for a moment, and then back to her.
“The shower will work better if you come in naked,” he told her.
She laughed, breathless and more than a little nervous. She slipped from her panties, drew the huge T-shirt over her head and walked over to join him. Unabashedly, he looked her up and down.
“Well, since bathing suits leave little to the imagination, I can’t say that I haven’t noticed the infinitely fine attributes you possess. But reality is far superior to anything I imagined.”
“Where on earth did you get your language skills?” she demanded.
He pulled her under the spray beneath him. The water was warm and delightful. His body was pure fire and magnificent against hers.
“You don’t like my language skills?” he asked.
“No, no, they’re fine! Lovely, really,” she assured him.
“Maybe I should stop speaking,” he said. He did so, pressing his lips down upon hers. The touch was electric, and his kiss was perfect, gentle, tasting at first, his mouth molding to hers. And then, as their bodies crushed closer together, it deepened to something forceful and coercive, volcanic in the rush it created within her. Or maybe it was the molten-steel feel of his body, the rise of his erection against her lower abdomen. All she knew was that what she had started so tentatively was now urgent. While the warm water coursed around them, she felt a buildup of arousal within her that seemed insane and yet so wonderful she wanted to experience it forever.
Their hands moved upon one another. They found the soap, used it, lost it, crashed into one another finding it again. Suds covered them, making their flesh slick and sleek, and then the water rinsed off the suds, and they were together again, just holding each other for a moment beneath the spray. She laid her head against his neck and felt the throb of his pulse. She felt his hand slide down her hip, between her thighs. He lifted her, with the water still sending out spray and steam; he held her high, then brought her down, guiding her down on him. She wound her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and he balanced against the fiberglass of the shower as he eased completely into her, his eyes on hers. Then he began to move.
She didn’t know if it was him, if it was the simple fact that they were there, just as they began, with the pounding sound, water and steam, but nothing had ever seemed more erotic to her, and the way that he moved was an arousal unlike any other. She clung to him, arched and writhed to his lift and fall, and gave herself over to the pure carnal rawness of the experience. Far too soon she realized that she was burning and frantic and climaxing. She felt a final great thrust from him, shuddered, and eased slowly down on him, but he held her against the fiberglass until the sound of the water was just that again and the spray and the mist kept them warm, even as they cooled.
His lips found hers again, wet, hard, wonderful. He kissed her deeply, her wet hair entangled in his fingers.
He groped for the faucet at last, stopping the spray. Still nearly on top of her, his lips just inches away, he said, “Try and get me out of bed at night, hmm?”
“I think that you’re quite lovely in bed, actually,” she said.
“I hope you’ll think I’m even lovelier now.”
She nodded.
“Towels,” he said.
“Pardon?”