Hugh stood in just khaki pants, low-slung on his hips. Only his pants. And that skylight let in just enough moonlight for her to see him.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled with awareness. His chest and feet were bare and damp from water misting out of the shower. Somehow it was the naked feet that made things feel more intimate. He wasn’t just some ripped man of the month, eye candy with his shirt off. He was a man alone with her—a man she happened to have had sex with not too long ago. Back before they’d actually known anything about each other.
She extended her hand for him to join her, waggling her fingers. “Join me.”
“Not yet.” He shook his head. “I told you. I’m going to wash your hair.”
His hands landed on her shoulders, gently easing her down to sit again. Moaning, she sank into the tub and clutched her legs, her forehead resting on her bent knees. Porcelain was cool against her bottom, then warm and warmer as the water gathered… Yeah. This was good.
He grabbed a plastic bottle with a homemade label—“Orange sage” written in calligraphy with a piece of fruit drawn in the corner, signed JPS, Jocelyn Pearson-Stewart. Would a wheeling-dealing criminal make her own soaps and shampoos? She relaxed a little deeper in the tub. The lukewarm beads caressed her like a liquid orgasm tingling over her dry, scraped skin.
Hugh sat on the edge and rubbed the shampoo over her hair, gathering up the ends to work it all into a lather. His fingertips pressed along her temples. He thrust his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp.
He was thorough, God, he was thorough, with all three shampoos and rinses that tingled from the roots all the way to her toes. The scented suds cascaded down her body, washing away grime, exhaustion, and something else indefinable. Barriers, maybe? Or the will to hold herself together. And in this vulnerable turned-on moment, emotions slammed over her faster than a tidal wave.
A shaking started deep inside her. Was she losing it? After all they’d been through, now she had to unravel? She hadn’t even realized her heel was stuck in the drain and the tub had started filling up. Her jaw trembled and she was pretty sure her legs wouldn’t hold her. Much longer and she would start crying over, hell, everything.
She turned her head on her knees, letting the spray caress her face. “Really, you should join me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Somberly, he shucked his pants and underwear at the same time.
What a time to realize she hadn’t seen him completely naked before. The supply closet had been too dim, their encounter too hurried. But she looked him fully over now, taking in the raw strength of him. Not just bulging arms and muscular roped legs, but his ridged stomach, the breadth of his back declared his strength beyond anything she’d ever witnessed. She’d certainly seen all that strength in action, the power that couldn’t be gained from just pumping iron in a weight room.
And the tattoos. Plural. While she’d noticed the music scrolled across his chest, she definitely hadn’t noticed the green footprints inked on his calf. There was a story there, no doubt.
Except then he stepped into the water and her thoughts scattered. He sat behind her, bringing the water higher around them as his legs stretched out the length of the tub. His thick erection pressed against her back with a promise as large as everything else about the man.
He cupped her shoulders, guiding her to rest against his chest. “Relax…”
Really? Really? She was far from relaxed, with tension of another delicious kind seeping through her.
Then his hands slid forward to cup her br**sts and she eased down into the water, giving him fuller access to keep caressing, soothing. The lingering soap on his hands made his touch slick against her nipples. The calluses along the pads of his finger rasped an added pleasure with each stroke, touch, plucking. His hands splayed wide, palming her in his broad, possessive hold.
Heat pooled between her legs, a sensation that had more to do with Hugh than the shower. And from the way he throbbed against her spine as she moved, he was enjoying this every bit as much as she was. Although, she could take things even higher by being a more active participant.
Swiping the washrag from the hook and the bottle of homemade liquid soap, she lathered a cloth, eyeing his muscled hairy legs on either side of her. She skimmed her fingers carefully around the angry red scratch on his calf where Oliver had cut him during their struggle in the van.
She dabbed along the angry red line. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m a medic, remember?” He kissed and nipped down her neck and along her shoulder. “I can take care of myself. I’m also military, which means I get a crap ton of immunizations. Think tetanus times twenty.”
Her hand slowed along his leg, the water chilling around her. “In case you’re injured in the line of duty.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled against her neck.
“And have you been?”
He stroked down from her br**sts to her stomach, inching lower still until his fingertips were under the soapy water. And then he reached lower still, dipping one hand between her legs. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”
Her knees parted and it was her own slickness, her arousal, that smoothed his touch back and forth along her plumped, oversensitive flesh.
“Guess not.” She shook her head against his chest, her breath hitching as his fingers dipped lower, lower… just low enough. “Oh… Definitely not.”
“Good.” His laugh vibrated against her, through her. “Me neither.”
She tipped her face up toward him just in time to meet his kiss, opening, and what a time to realize there hadn’t been the luxury of time for making out. They’d shared life-and-death moments, deep personal secrets, and even mind-blowing sex. But somewhere along the line they’d missed out on this…
Careful not to break the passionate connection, she angled around and onto her knees until she straddled his lap. Water sluiced over the sides again as she settled on top of him. Facing him, she explored him with her hands and the soap. The shower sprayed on her back, sprinkling around onto him and swishing away the suds. She kissed her way over clean manly flesh. And God, she loved the way his pecs twitched under her lips. So she flicked her tongue, tasting, savoring as she worked her way across until the texture changed with his musical tattoo.