Max grinned. "Layers. I like layers. Sometimes the payoff is all the sweeter when you've had to work for it."
His hands slid inside, cupped her bottom, his arms shrugging the flight suit from her shoulders. Darcy whipped the uniform down and off, kicked it free while pulling her T-shirt overhead.
Until she stood in a sports bra and high-cut panties.
His low growl of approval caressed her ears, swirled inside over feminine instincts. His fascination with her dog tags, the way his eyes had so often lingered on the high-cut hip of her bathing suit, all told her that while he might opt for flamboyance in his own clothing choices, he in no way found hers lacking.
Then with two bold sweeps of his hands, her underwear fluttered to the floor. And she knew by the heat of his gaze as he stared at her wearing nothing but her dog tags, he definitely didn't find her lacking.
Sliding his swim trunks down and off, he backed her into the shower before she caught nearly enough of a glimpse of him. Warm spray sluiced over her, warmer still as the water heated.
Or maybe they heated the water. A definite possibility.
Darcy trailed her fingers along hard muscle and Max, down to his hip, discovering another tattoo. Poseidon's trident sliced across a hard hip, launching a tingle up her arm.
She'd spent her life around men, had stumbled into more than a few locker rooms with minimal privacy situations on the road. She might be a virgin, but she wasn't naive about the male physique, and man, oh, man, did this guy have a body to make her go weak-kneed against the wall.
Water rained onto his head, saturated his hair, darkening it. How perfect that he should be surrounded by water. Seeing him through the spray somehow made him seem all the more familiar.
She traced the cut of muscles along his chest, to his stomach, a solid wall of tanned heat. Her hand journeyed lower until she wrapped her fingers around him.
Her back flattened against the shower wall.
Max anchored her to the tiles a second before his mouth slanted over hers. His body pressed a hot, hard melding of wet skin to skin until she could almost feel the water evaporating off her overheated flesh.
His hand left her. But before she could even groan her protest, he returned with a bar of soap. Anticipation curled through her. She reached for the washrag dangling from the showerhead.
He grabbed her wrist, lowering her arm. "You won't need that. Quit trying to take control of the jet here, Darcy. There are two of us running the show."
His hands and soap glided over her. All of her. He washed her, washed away the horror of the past week, carefully easing his fingers over the puckered pink scar on her arm. He swept away memories and boundaries with his broad but gentle hands until only the two of them stood together in the waterfall spray.
So very bare.
Then his hands slid up her neck into her hair as he worked in shampoo. Bold, callused fingers massaged against her scalp and every nerve with such thorough intensity. His eyes never left her face while he watched her, as if he had to see what he was doing to her.
And, oh, he was doing so very much to her.
He tipped her head back, stroked his hands over her hair, swiping the soap away from her face so she could keep her eyes open, as well. Water cascaded down her, washing away suds and restraints.
"No more," she pleaded, wanting him out of the shower and on dry terrain where she could tumble him into bed, onto his back.
He grinned. "Much more, Darcy."
Max dropped to his knees.
Heat crawled up her face at even the thought of such intimacy. The whole standing-up-in-a-shower-stall idea was already stretching her limited—hell, nonexistent—experience.
She gripped his shoulders, her nervousness and breath-stealing excitement warring for dominance. "Uh, Max. This might be a little advanced for me just yet. How about we slate this one for maybe, oh, our third time?"
"Darcy?" He brushed his lips across her breasts, drank from her skin.
The sensation made her light-headed. "Yeah, Max?"
"Hush." He drew harder on one taut peak. "Unless you want to tell me exactly how this feels. Then you can be sure I'll listen to every damn word."
His mouth claimed her other breast. She sighed her answer, tracing the tattoo on his arm with trancelike intensity along the red edges of the rectangular flag.
Diver down.