“No.” She wet her parched lips. “It might fix what’s broken with us, though.”
Oh, he wanted to take the opportunity and run. There was no denying it. Not when he grew winded looking down at her thighs, her bare midriff. He’d been in check around Lita so long, resisting even her most brazen advances. Maybe it was their dynamic as musician-manager having changed, or maybe it was the feeling of isolation provided by the silent motel. But she saw his hunger, not just for her, but to replace the memory of their night together with one he could stand. One he could live with. “Have…” His throat worked. “Have you eaten?”
Lita shook her head.
James’s face remained impassive as he set to work cleaning her ankle, wiping it clean and holding a towel against the cut until it stopped bleeding. All the while, his gaze coasted up her legs, dipping to the space between where she knew the cream-colored material of her thong could be seen. She leaned back against the bathroom mirror and arched her back, letting him peruse her breasts through the awful polyester, focusing on keeping her breathing even.
When he finally spoke, his voice was so raw Lita was transported back to that night in the Los Angeles hotel. He sounded edgy. Just a hint pissed off. “Can you stand in the shower?”
“Yes.”
James nodded once. “Get clean while I find something to feed you.” He turned to leave the bathroom, but paused with one hand on the doorjamb. “If we do this, you need words. And you’ll need to remember them, Lita. I want you to say Beverly Wilshire if I need to stop. Do you understand?”
Breathe. Breathe. “Yes, I understand.”
He nodded once, his voice dropping another devastating octave. “Put the outfit back on when you’re finished.”
Without waiting for Lita’s response, James left the room, closing the door with a decisive click. She slipped off the sink, careful not to agitate her ankle, and started the shower. As steam filled the white tile room, she looked at herself in the mirror, noticing the red staining her cheeks. The excitement dancing in her eyes. How long would it take him to touch her? Anticipation blazed through her veins, vitalizing, electrifying. A significant part of her wanted to goad James to lose control, because while he’d roared over her like a freight train during their one physical encounter, he roused something hot and dangerous. Something she’d spent four years trying to recapture, to no avail. But no. If she forced him to repeat actions he regretted, she would regret it tomorrow. Staying the course was tonight’s game plan.
She’d been in the shower for a handful of minutes when James returned, slamming the door and making her jump. She soaped herself faster, wanting to hurry and join him in the room before he changed his mind.
James walked into the bathroom.
He came to a stop inches from the glass stall, watching as the soap rinsed from her body, down to the drain. For a heavy, breathless moment, he stared at her breasts, belly, and backside. Not moving. Just when she thought he’d frozen into marble, he heaved a shaking exhale that fogged the glass and twisted lust in Lita’s belly. She swore his warm breath reached her through the barrier, the way it turned her nipples to points, forcing a moan past her damp lips.
Unsure how to proceed with this wickedly intense James of her memory, Lita turned off the shower and stepped from the stall to dry herself with a scratchy white towel, rubbing the ends of her hair to remove excess water. His cool began to slip when she stepped into her discarded skirt, dragging it up her damp legs, situating the garment even higher than usual. The material clung to her hips and buttocks like seeking hands, turning her on, readying her body.
Deciding to forgo the bra, Lita tugged the matching shirt down over her head. “Are you going to say anything?”
“Go eat,” James growled. “Before I eat you first.”
Game plan. Game plan. Lita launched herself into the bedroom, noticing the box of donuts immediately. Of its own accord, her hand lifted to clutch at her chest, an attempt to soothe the sudden hammering beneath. “Chocolate?”
His footsteps drew up behind her. “I always wondered why you picked donuts that night. I told you I’d bring you anywhere.”
She swallowed. “You were so intimidating in your suit. I thought maybe if I saw frosting on your fingers…”
“I wouldn’t be so scary?” His hand settled on her hip, giving it a squeeze, as if testing her resilience. “It didn’t take me long to disappoint you, did it?”
Knowing from experience that her reassurances to the contrary would do no good, Lita went to the basic, wooden table and selected a chocolate donut from the box. When she took her first bite, she faced James, remembering that night how he’d watched her chew across the plastic Dunkin Donuts booth, encouraging her to eat more. That night, she’d polished off four donuts and two paper cups of room service hot chocolate before saying uncle. Now, she could barely manage to keep half the pastry down, thanks to the butterfly rave taking place in her stomach.