‘I’m…ah…going to jump in the shower.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Do you need your back scrubbed?’
Her blood warmed, her skin tingled. He hadn’t moved a muscle but Sophie had the impression he’d come closer. She had no doubt he was well skilled in scrubbing backs, making fast, furious love and getting to his meetings on time.
Not her… At least she didn’t think so. ‘Do you want this new client on your books?’ she said, turning away before she decided to test the theory for herself. She headed for the refuge of her en-suite bathroom.
She felt the smile in his voice when, from behind her, he said, ‘If you change your mind just give a yell.’
Her lips curved. ‘If you hear me yell you have my full permission to come right on in and to hell with being professionally punctual,’ she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away.
As refuges went it was a marble palace—all white with gold fittings, fernery spilling from hanging pots and warm down-lights that turned her paler-than-average skin colour—especially the parts not normally exposed—a flattering honey tone. She twisted her hair up and clasped it on top of her head.
Setting the water to moderately hot, she stepped beneath the spray. Under the circumstances she really didn’t need hot, but when it came to her shower she was a creature of habit…
A squelchy squirming sensation beneath her toes had her jumping back and glancing down. She saw a centipede—longer and thicker than her middle finger—its hideous body writhing in the shower stall at her feet. And they bite…
But it was the way it thrashed about that had the blood-curdling scream springing from her lips while her fingers scrabbled for the shower-screen door. Get out! Get out!
‘What’s wrong?’ Loud knocking on the door. ‘Sophie?’
‘Get it out!’ Through the glass enclosure, she was aware of Jared bursting into the room but her eyes were pinned to the sight inches from her toes while she struggled to open the door. She finally got the door to slide and all but fell out of the shower, backing up as far away as she could. ‘That…that…’ It was all she could get past her constricted throat.
Shutting the water off, Jared reached for the wooden handled back scrub hanging beneath the shower head and she screwed her eyes shut…
Water trickled down her cooling body as she clasped her arms around her and heard a series of loud knocks. A convulsive shiver shuddered down her spine. ‘Oh, God.’ She didn’t want to know how he’d done it, only that he had. ‘Is it dead? Is it gone?’
‘It’s dead.’ She heard the toilet flush. ‘And now it’s gone.’
A tortured sigh escaped her lips. Only then did she take it all in. She was naked. He wore jeans, nothing else. She slid her eyes to his, willing him to do the same.
To his gentlemanly credit, his gaze remained locked with hers. Not even a flicker of a glance where it shouldn’t go. He reached for a towel on the rail beside him, passed it to her.
‘Thanks.’ She grabbed it and pulled it in front of herself. Shivering. With cold or relief or excitement? ‘Just so you know, I’m not one of those squealy women,’ she felt compelled to point out. ‘Normally. But those…’ She shuddered again.
‘Okay.’ He didn’t move a muscle. But there was a flicker of movement at one corner of his mouth saying maybe he believed her, maybe not.
‘I’m going to get back in there now,’ she said, as much to herself as to him. Then another flesh-crawling thought… ‘You don’t think it came up the drain, do you? What if it has a mate somewhere…’
‘I don’t know. Maybe you should let me stay here and make sure.’ There was a roguish light in those eyes, a hint of the devil in his chivalrous words. He reached into the stall and switched the water back on for her.
Then—and she didn’t know what demon possessed her…yes she did and his name was Jared Sanderson—she tossed the towel on the floor and stepped under the water. ‘Maybe I should.’ Her heart was hammering, her blood coursing hotly through her veins. Take a chance, be that sensual woman you want to be. Knowing she was starting something she might not be able to stop, keeping her back to him, she dangled her soap-filled sponge-on-a-string over one shoulder. ‘And maybe I should let you be useful and wash my back while you wait.’
She felt him take the sponge and, oh, that first glide across her shoulders was warm, slow and reassuringly impersonal. Another pass, this time down her spine, stopping at her waist. Then pressure at the base of her neck.