His breath caught when she dimpled a smile at him.
“And do I get to wash you this time?”
“‘Baby, you can do whatever you want to me. I’m putty in your hands.”
Her tinkling laugh sent sensation scuttling through his body.
“Right. Then I command you to put your hands on the wall and don’t move them until I say so.”
“Or what?” he teased. He flicked on the shower behind her, luxuriating in her husky cry when the fingers of his other hand played over the nipples displayed rubescent in the moonlight.
“Or you’ll be tortured in ways you’ve never even dreamed of,” came her bold, husky promise. The blood thickened in his veins.
“Well, in that case, I absolutely refuse to do your bidding.”
Her m
ock gasp of outrage was the last coherent thing he heard for a long time.
Chapter Eight
The first thing Belle saw when she opened her eyes the next morning was her wedding ring. On its own, it would’ve been easy to miss, but with the sharp rays of the morning sun striking the pear-shaped diamond in her engagement ring, the presence of the platinum band lying next to it announced itself with blinding clarity. She shut her eyes, her heart hammering.
Tomorrow had come. And she had to face the consequences of last night.
The last time she’d seen her rings had been six months ago, when she’d taken them off and left them on another bedside table.
Her body’s radar told her she was alone in bed, but she still turned her head to investigate, and with a mixture of relief and disappointment saw only the imprint of Nick’s head on his pillow. Drawn almost hypnotically to the rings on her bedside table, she glanced at them. And saw a note beneath them. Shakily, she withdrew it.
It was simple and succinct.
This is what I want.
She crushed the note against her breast, her heart thumping harder.
“You’re awake.”
She looked up as Nick walked in, bristling with vitality and wearing an air of sated male. And no wonder—his demands on her through the night had been relentless. But he’d given in equal measure, and starved of his touch, she’d rejoiced in every single moment in his arms.
Her gaze raked over him. He wore a pair of white cotton drawstring pants and nothing else. Her heart stopped, then trebled its tempo, her eyes eating up the gorgeous sight of his hair-roughened torso.
Memories of kissing and touching his golden flesh rose in her mind, and she stifled a moan as he drew closer and deposited a tray laden with coffee, croissants, sliced ham, and orange juice on her lap.
“Kalimera, matia mou,” he drawled. He fisted his hand in her hair, kissed her on both cheeks before fusing his mouth to hers.
Helpless to resist, she opened her mouth and tasted him, her senses dizzy with joy at the utter chaos he wrought in her. Her unbidden groan of disappointment when he lifted his head after a few moments made him smile. She clenched her hands on the sheet, fighting the urge to clutch the back of his head and continue the kiss. She needed her wits about her if she was to make sense of their situation.
“Good morning, Nick,” she responded instead, her voice hoarse with want.
“You need to eat, so I will resist the urge to crawl back into bed with you.” His voice teased, but his hungry gaze started a trembling in her belly that made her want to shove the tray aside and jump him. She didn’t know whether to cry or sigh with relief when he moved away and sat down on the bed near her feet.
He poured a glass of orange juice and passed it to her, halting when he saw the note clutched in her hand.
“You read my note?” he asked, his gaze direct.
She nodded. When he raised his brow, she looked away, reluctant to face the questions in his eyes. Dropping the note beside her tray, she accepted the glass from him and took a hasty sip.
“What time is it?” She needed something innocuous to fill the heavy silence.