She was in the process of working a tangle out of her long, wet hair when a brisk knock at the door startled her.
“Can I come in?” Liam asked from the other side.
“Oh…yes.”
The door swung open. Natalie gulped when she saw he wore just a pair of dark blue cotton drawstring pants. They hung so low on his narrow hips she couldn’t help but speculate that he wasn’t wearing anything under them. He must have just showered as well; his short, wavy hair was still damp and mussed, and she caught a hint of his fresh, spicy scent.
He looked so beautiful to her, standing there in the doorway, so present…so vibrant, that the image struck her consciousness like a gong, leaving her entire body vibrating with awareness.
“Are you doing okay?” he asked.
She nodded and attempted a smile as she held up a snarled tress and the hairbrush. “It can be a pain sometimes,” she said breathlessly, referring to her hair.
“Let me.”
She just stood there stupidly at the sound of the two words. He came behind her and removed the brush from her clutching hand. Natalie watched him in the mirror, but she would have known precisely what he was doing in those taut moments whether she saw him with her eyes or not, she was so keyed in to him. He was a head and a half taller than her, but he bent his neck, bringing his face close, as if he wanted to inhale her scent. He attended to his task with more careful deliberation than a detective handling evidence at a crime scene. She was highly aware of his body ghosting hers as he moved, adjusting himself to the angle of each new tress. Every time he gathered a new bunch of hair in one hand, a fresh ripple of excitement coursed from her skull to her neck to her breasts.
By the time he detangled the last locks, her entire body was tingling with awareness.
He set down the brush on the counter, the sound of hard plastic hitting marble seeming unnaturally loud in the still room. Without speaking, he gently gathered the damp tresses in his hands, smoothing each hair away from her face. Distantly, Natalie realized there was no veil for her scars, no glasses, no dim light, not even her hair to cloak her.
She didn’t care. She was too enthralled with the image of Liam’s eyes—how could they look so fierce and so tender at once? She thought for sure her heart would swell past the capacity of her rib cage when he began to slowly wind the thick tail of her gathered hair around one large hand. His palm turned and turned, the dark brown, sleek skein wrapping around his hand and wrist. The movement hypnotized her.
He finally stopped when his hand was against her nape. Natalie stood there, expectant…breathless. He tugged slightly and her head fell back an inch. Their eyes met in the mirror.
“I was a fool,” he said.
“When?”
“For not finishing what we started last night.”
Her lower lip trembled, but her eyes never wavered from his stare.
“You…you won’t regret it?”
He pulled again with his hand, very gently, until she backed against the length of his body. She could feel him perfectly through the thin fabrics covering their nakedness. He lowered his head so that his breath tickled her exposed ear when he spoke.
“I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t.” His eyes found hers in the mirror again, hot and entreating. “Tell me you trust me. I need to hear it.”
“I trust you,” she replied without hesitation.
“I might be acting selfishly.”
“If you are, so am I, because I want you so much it hurts,” she whispered.
He released her hair and turned her, his arms surrounding her. He claimed her with his kiss…ravaged her…cherished her.
He did all of that and more, and Natalie reciprocated with her own brand of desire unleashed.
She moaned into his mouth when he placed his hands on her buttocks and lifted her, raising her to his kiss. Her legs encircled his hips, her heated blood and melting flesh making the intimate gesture seem as natural as breathing. She clung to his shoulders when he moved, their kiss continuing, their hunger mounting.
He took her to his room and laid her on the bed, sitting beside her. His mouth moved, detailing the line of her jaw, sipping at her parted lips. His long fingers gently caressed her neck and collarbone, creating an anguished sense of anticipation to build in her.
“Liam,” she murmured, longing roughening her voice. She encircled him with her arms, her fingers running over sleek, dense muscle gloved in thick skin. She pressed her palms flat against his lower back, one hand on either side of his spine, and slid her fingers beneath the elastic band of his pajama bottoms. He groaned at the caress and shifted his weight, coming down next to her on the mattress. It was the license she needed.
Her hands lowered. She held curving, dense muscle and molded it to her palms.
Liam made a strangled sound and his hand flew to the sash of her robe. He made short work of loosening it as he pressed quick, hot kisses to her neck and ear. His whiskers occasionally scraped her sensitive skin, making her shiver with pleasure, but his warm, gifted lips always followed to soothe her.