A Place Called Home (27 page)

She sat up slowly, careful not to dislodge the covers, and took stock of her situation. On the floor not far from the bed was her overnight bag. It looked oddly deflated lying there, flattened and misshapen against the carpet. Thea blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, or seeing poorly. In small increments, the brain fog began to recede and she understood that Mitch had unpacked the bag for her. Turning slightly, she groped for the contact wetting solution, hoping he would have put it in the same place she did on the nightstand. He had, and her fingers closed around it. One drop in each eye, a couple of blinks, and the watercolor on the far wall was identifiable as a cityscape with the Smithfield Street Bridge as its center. She couldn’t make out the signature, and the painting was certainly different from Mitch’s cartooning, but there were similarities in the bold, black strokes, and splashes of color, that made her know it was his work.

Plus, this was his bedroom.

Yep, she was a regular Sherlock. She hadn’t even noticed the watercolor the first time she’d been here.

Thea’s glance shifted sideways. Mitch lay sprawled on his stomach, half in and out of the sheet and blankets. His head was turned away from her, supported by the plumped-up pillow and the arm he had slid beneath it. There was a lot of shoulder and upper back showing, all of it covered by a wrinkled and roomy gray T-shirt. The leg that was stretched out and perfectly visible on top of the comforter was a remarkably attractive specimen of lean and muscular masculine contours. Thea’s eyes followed its line from toe to thigh and back again. He even had rather nice toes, and sure enough, his second toe was longer than the big one.

She stared at them and then blinked. And blinked again. She wasn’t imagining it: Mitch’s toenails were varnished in neon-bright pink polish.

The sound that escaped her throat was something that held the nuances of despair and laughter, that was both surrender and acceptance. She stifled it by grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her, burying her face against the 300-thread count Egyptian cotton that still smelled vaguely more like him than her. Beside her, she felt Mitch stir and she risked a peek at him. He didn’t rise. In the next moment his breathing was easy again and Thea slipped out of bed.

She padded silently to the adjoining bathroom and closed the door. Whoever had undressed her last night had had the decency or good sense to leave her in her panties and purple turtleneck sweater. Her bra had been removed but Thea had a hazy recollection of that happening under cover of the turtleneck.

That memory sharpened suddenly and Thea actually felt the tracks of Mitch’s fingertips inching their way up her back. She shivered, but in a good way. Catching her reflection in the large mirror above the bathroom sink, Thea’s mouth split in a wide, sappy grin. “You’re a mess, Thea Wyndham,” she whispered. For once the admonition was more playful than pejorative.

Mitch woke to the sound of the shower running in his bathroom. He groaned softly, regretfully. Another opportunity missed. Thea had been so exhausted by the time he got her in the house that she was practically drugged with it. Maybe that was an inappropriate comparison, but Mitch didn’t think so. He sent her upstairs while he dealt with their coats and locking up the house, and when he found her again it wasn’t in Emilie’s room, but his own. She was already more asleep than awake, lying on top of the down comforter, one sock off, the other dangling from her toes. She had managed to unbutton and unzip her jeans, and even push them partway to her hips, but getting them off seemed to have confounded her.

Mitch shimmied her out of the Levi’s, the socks, and—because she requested it—the bra. That took a little maneuvering, but he’d managed the thing without removing her sweater, and had ended up touching her just about everywhere
except
her breasts to achieve that end.

Mitch glanced over at the chair where all of Thea’s clothes were folded neatly, the lacy bra on top. He smiled to himself. It had matched her purple sweater. The panties, too. There had been a certain amount of satisfaction in discovering he had guessed correctly about that. Thea was a monochromatic girl. Very sexy.

Rolling out of bed, Mitch straightened and stretched. He used the kids’ bathroom for his personal needs but he drew the line at sharing their bubble gum flavored toothpaste again. Besides that, he needed to shave.

The shower was still going when he opened the door to his own bathroom. “You all right in there?” he called.

The soap thudded to the floor of the tub.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You want me to get that?”

“Funny.” Thea picked it up, held it too tightly and it leaped out her hand, ricocheting off the tub wall and thumping to the floor again.

“You playing racquetball in there?” Through the frosted shower door, Mitch could just make out the fuzzy shape of Thea’s body as she twisted and bent for the second time. “Want some competition?” Her reply was muffled by the water pelting her face but Mitch understood enough of it. “Better wash your mouth out while you’ve got the soap.”

Thea pressed her forehead against the damp tiles and closed her eyes. Hot water sluiced her shoulders and ran down her back. “What are you doing in here?”

Mitch already had his toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. “Dental hygiene. Do you mind? I didn’t want to kiss you with bubble gum breath.”

That brought Thea’s head up. The bubble gum comment almost distracted her but she managed to zero in on what was important. “There’s going to be kissing?”

“Uh-huh.”

She glanced at the toothpaste and brush she had carried into the shower with her. She was ahead of him in some regards, but what if he didn’t like mint? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll get wet.”

Mitch grinned at his reflection. He was foaming at the mouth. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not coming out.”

He spit and rinsed. “Okay by me. I’m gonna shave first, though.” He looked around for his razor and shaving cream. At an angle behind him, via the mirror’s reflection, Mitch saw the shower door slide open a few inches and a slim arm extend itself. At the end of the arm was a hand holding a can of shaving cream and his newest razor with four blades. He turned around, took the offering, and got an eyeful of slick wet thigh before the door banged shut. “Tell me you didn’t use this already.”

“You want me to lie?”

Mitch sighed. “You know, if you kept some cream and disposable razors in that grab-and-go bag, you wouldn’t start off the morning on the wrong side of the guy who’s gonna make you weak-kneed.”

Thea swallowed. Her knees were already a little weak. She leaned back against the tiles and now the water drummed against her breasts and cascaded over her flat belly and down her thighs. Her voice was more hesitant than she would have liked as she asked, “I’m on your wrong side?”

“No woman needs a patented titanium quadruple blade system to remove hair from her legs,” he grumbled. “You get facial hair, then we’ll talk.”

“Gee.”

“I know. Serious stuff.” Mitch lathered his face. “You want to watch?”

“I’ll pass.”

“I’d watch you shave your legs.”

“I bet you would.”

Mitch had to stop smiling in order to shave. The extra creases played hell with every one of those blades. “What are you doing now?”

“Rinsing the conditioner out of my hair.”

“Can you do that and think about me kissing you?”

There was a pause, then, “I can now.”

Mitch forgot himself, grinned wickedly at his reflection, and almost nicked his jaw. He stopped teasing Thea before he inadvertently severed a facial nerve. She probably would have less objections about the kiss if his mouth was not drawn back in a perpetual Joker-like grimace.

Splashing water on his face, Mitch wiped off the remaining shaving cream, and rinsed his razor. He smoothed the wrinkles on his T-shirt and snapped the elastic waistband of his boxers. Looked like it was a go. Turning, he took a step toward the bathtub stall and knocked politely on the shower door.

“Who’s there?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m comin’ in.” He gave the sliding door a little tug on the handle and felt resistance from the other side. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” he threatened. “I can do it, too.”

“Mitch!” Thea opened the door wide enough to frame her face. Water dripped on the rim of the tub, Mitch’s hand, and the carpet. “I want a towel.”

“The water’s still running.”

“I know. I
want
a towel.”

Amused, he yanked one hanging on a hook at the back of the bathroom door and gave it to her. She swept it inside, shut the frosted partition, and then called to him, “You can come in now. I’m decent.”

Mitch opened the door and regarded Thea standing under the pulsing spray with the oversized bath sheet wrapped around her twice for modesty. “You are deeply left of center, you know that?”

“I’m learning it might not be such a bad thing.”

Still in his boxers and tee, Mitch stepped into the shower. “I kinda like it.” Water pelted the back of his head and neck as Thea made room for him. He shut the door. “Cozy,” he said, looking around. There were bottles of her shampoo, conditioner, and moisturizer on the shallow shelves built into the tiled walls. Peppermint foot cleanser and a pumice stone were sitting on the interior rim of the tub. “You redecorated. I like what you’ve done with the place.” His eyes came back to hers and his humor faded. The centers darkened as he studied her upturned face. “You okay?”

“A little stiff,” she said.

Mitch nodded. “I know the feeling.”

Thea’s eyes dropped immediately to the dampening front of his boxers. Her brows lifted. “Little” was not an appropriate adjective to describe what was happening south of the border.

Following her glance, Mitch looked down at himself. “What can I say? It’s hard to pitch a tent in the rain.”

In spite of her misgivings, Thea discovered she had the capacity to laugh. He did that to her. Again and again he gave her this gift, this opportunity not to take things so seriously that she wrung all the joy from them. She looked up at him. Her lashes were wet and spiky. Water trickled down her temples. “I thought I scared you,” she said.

“You did. You
do.
But scaring me is different from scaring me off.”

Thea thought about that and the distinction was not lost on her. “Then I suppose you better kiss me.”

“Hmmm. That’s what I was—”

He stopped because Thea caught him full on the mouth midsentence. That was the last chance she had to take charge for a while. Mitch gave her a full body press against the tiles and threw himself into that kiss.

Her mouth was damp and she tasted of mint, cool at first but warming up nicely. His lips caught hers, the edge of his tongue running along the sweet, silky underside and then across the ridge of her teeth. He plied her with small, nibbling kisses at the corners of her mouth, pacing himself, teasing her with the occasional foray of his tongue, hinting at deeper carnal pleasures. His hands bracketed her head but his body held her up. The bath sheet was sopping wet, heavy and thick between them. He didn’t try to drag it from her. She’d shed it like a chrysalis when she was ready for him.

Thea whimpered softly under the steady onslaught of his mouth. This was carnage, what he was doing to her. Take-no-prisoners kissing. Insistent. Sensual. Wicked hot. He delivered on his promise to make her knees weak. The pressure of his lips, the sweep of his tongue, the deep, slow, pulsing rhythm of his kisses also left her light-headed and short of breath. It was a complete rush on every one of her senses, including common. There was nothing but his body pressing against hers and the hard, openmouthed frontal assault.

He broke the kiss suddenly and Thea couldn’t even raise her heavy eyelids. She felt the pitch of the water change from pulse to spray and then his mouth was on her again, heavy and drugging, suckling her lips as if he were drawing honey from the comb. Thea’s towel began to slide. She reached for it but he grasped her wrists and lightly held her hands at her sides. She didn’t struggle. “Someone has his eyes open,” she said softly.

“You bet.” His voice was thick and rough-edged. “You have slippage.” He drew her hands slowly upward against the tiles until they were raised above her head.

Gravity did the rest.

Chapter 9

Mitch’s breath snagged in his chest. She was looking at him now, her eyes wide and luminous ... and wary. “God, Thea,” he whispered raggedly. “You’re ...” He lowered his head again because he didn’t have words. Mitch only knew that if he were struck blind, he had already had a vision of the promised land. He kissed her on the mouth, slowly, warmly. His hands cupped her face lightly as he worked his mouth over hers. His fingers teased tendrils of damp hair around the curve of her ears.

Thea’s heart thudded heavily. Of all the places he could have touched her when she stood naked and vulnerable in front of him, he touched her face. He made her feel ... adored. She raised her hands and curved them around his wrists, tugging gently. Guiding him, Thea made his palms slide along her water-slick skin to her throat, her shoulders, and then, arching into him, her breasts. She swallowed his muffled groan with her own deepening kiss.

His palms were filled, amply filled. Gloriously filled. Her breasts swelled under his hands. The dusky pink aureoles puckered and the nipples stood erect, poking at the heart of his palms, then scraping against the crease of his life line as he moved his hands to cup her. He lowered his head and suckled.

Thea gasped at the first hot contact of his mouth on her breast. Rising on tiptoe, extending the long line of her leg, she slid upward against the wet tiles at her back and braced her arms on Mitch’s shoulders. The source of heat spiraling outward from her breast was his mouth. The rough edge of his tongue lapped at her nipple. Flicked it. His teeth closed over the tip and he tugged.

She was scored by the heat all the way to her womb. Mitch’s name was trapped at the back of her throat. Her lips hummed softly together, then the tremulous sound died away and she didn’t try to speak again. It was all she could do to breathe.