Forster, Suzanne (15 page)

The shower was tiny, but he wasn't.

Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the walls and ceiling, ghosting over the two of them like iridescent ribbons. Sharply aware of him, Gus barely noticed that she'd moved outside the flow of water. Sparkling droplets were beginning to bead on her body and trickle into crevices in very suggestive ways.

He had noticed, though.

He feathered the hollow formed by her collarbone as if he meant to check her pulse, which she knew to be wild. It was impossible to fake nonchalance when someone was monitoring your vital signs. He might as well have had a stethoscope.

"Not knowing makes your heart beat harder, too, " he said.

"I nearly slipped, " she informed him. "The floor is slick. "

"So are you, Gus. Very slick. "

Not slick enough to fool him, however. His expression assured her of that. Much as she would have liked to shrug his observations off, she
was
wondering what he might do next. In fact, it was the only thing on her mind at the moment. That and her body. She was suddenly very aware of her body—how pink and golden it looked in this tiny sunlight-sprinkled room, how alert and flushed and eager, like a sparkling wine, glowing in the glass, ready to be drunk. Unfortunately, she also felt as if she were the one who'd been doing the drinking, and much too fast. Her head was aglitter with effervescent sensations. Her breasts felt bubbly and full, her belly tight. Even her lips were tingly and unmanageable.

"Am I crazy?" she asked him softly. "Or has something changed? Yesterday you tried to force-dress me because my nakedness was an abomination in the eyes of God.

Today you're in the shower with me, we're both naked, and you're telling me I'm slick. "

"Yes... " He absently continued his flirtation with her pulse.

"Yes, something's changed?"

"Yes, we're both naked. "

A single water droplet spilled over the dam of her collarbone and quivered on the lush bell curve of her breast. After a moment of indecision, it began to plummet recklessly, clinging to the outside swell of her breast as it sluiced its way downward. Her shower mate followed its precarious path, first with his eyes, and then lightly with the backside of his thumb.

Gus's skin was blue-veined and especially sensitive there. Even light pressure was exquisitely sharp. The glide of his thumbnail was as startling to her nerves as if a tiny knife were being drawn teasingly up the sole of her foot. It was unbearable! She shuddered and the sensation shot through her, bringing a startled sound to her lips. The tiny room flashed with rainbow colors as she blinked open her eyes, unaware that she'd closed them.

How far could she let this go?

How far was he going to take it?

Those two questions encouraged her to sober up swiftly and take inventory of the situation. She didn't have a theory that covered both sex and kidnapping, but she did have one about seduction. She'd always believed if you could be seduced, you would be. Flashing her breasts at him was one thing. Having him fondle them as if they came with the price of dinner was quite another. She wasn't quite sure who was calling whose bluff, but there was some pride involved.

"Are you having fun?" she asked sardonically.

Sunlight iced his dark hair and danced in his eyes. "Compared to what?"

"I dunno... a sharp stick in the eye?"

"Compared to that, yes."

His palm curved itself to her ribs, and he brushed his thumb to and fro, fanning moisture in an arc that made the underswell of her breast glisten like marble. She was momentarily entranced by the light as well as the motion, despite the awareness that she probably shouldn't be, given her theory. Her flesh danced like a mirrored surface, and the stroke of his thumb was as rhythmic as the steady tick of a windshield wiper in a bright, gentle rain. The effect was hypnotic, yet terribly stimulating.

And then he bent as if to kiss the wet spot.

She stiffened as his lips met her flesh. Her heart went still, but her skin leapt, electrified by the feathery caress. It tingled and tightened, drawing back until her breast shivered with chills of anticipation, and her nipple puckered hotly in response. The sensations were wild, delicious. Another theory proven true, she thought.
She could be seduced.
Her lids fluttered as if to close....

She waited for more, but more didn't come.

Instead, his husky voice penetrated her anticipation. "I don't know about you," she heard him whisper, "but I'm here to get clean. Scrub my back?"

She opened her eyes to a bar of castile soap and a dark eyebrow, tilted expectantly. He was holding the soap out to her, seemingly sincere, but it took her a moment to reorient. He'd just been kissing her bare breast and now he wanted her to wash his back? Okay...

Anything to distract him, she rationalized. And herself. Still, she felt the weight of an unreleased sigh in her throat.

He turned around as she took the soap, presenting her with a backside that made her want to do something silly, like clutch her face and scream, teenage-girl style. Better than a stick in the eye, she decided. Definitely. Other than the gunshot wounds she'd already taken into account, he looked as if he'd been specially designed and built for physical action. He had big, beautiful, sinewy muscles everywhere it mattered, and narrow, lean, sexy ones everywhere else. His shoulders could have justified a wide-load warning, and his butt looked as squeezable as Charmin.

The toilet paper comparison triggered an idiotic grin. Fortunately he couldn't see her back here, losing her marbles at the mere sight of him. Maybe it was the desert air.

After all those years in the city, her nervous system had probably acclimated itself to noxious smog and exhaust fumes, and she was suffering withdrawal. Could be nail polish fumes for that matter. She'd been twenty-four hours now without a manicure. She was overdue for a facial, too. Her pores would be oozing effluvia. By the time she got back they could probably lube a car with the oil from her pores!

"Anything wrong back there?" he asked.

"Just checking for cellulite. You're fine. "

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and she held up the soap as proof of her serious intent. Cradling the bar under the spray, she began to work it between her palms, building a mountainous pyramid of bubbles. Her earnest smile assured him she was doing his bidding and being a good little geisha. And the silly sap, he bought it!

He frowned and reassumed the position.

His neck and shoulders seemed the likely place to start, and to Gus's surprise they were far less granitelike than they appeared. She found herself responding to the suppleness instinctively and increasing the pressure as she lathered his skin. Her thumbs dug into the crevice between his shoulder blades and her fingertips swirled in firm semicircles.

"God, that feels good, " he said, arching his back.

Latent power rippled up and down his spine in a frightening chain reaction. Some muscles tightened while others relaxed, but the way everything flowed in a stream under her hands made her feel odd inside, loose and hollow. Other than the bullet holes, he was close to perfect, she had to admit, and she'd seen enough perfection to know. His torturous encounters with roof beams might be painful, but they had paid off in raw-boned brawn.

She soaped to her heart's content, creating bubbly patterns across the width and down the length of him, hesitating only when she reached the small of his back where the dip in his spine flared out to the high, taut curves of his buttocks and a dimple-like groove in his right cheek.

"Don't stop now," he said. "I'm dirty down there, too. "

"I'll bet you are," she murmured.

On a slow breath she let her hands slide out to his hips, impressed with how lean and narrowly set they were, yet buttressed with bone. His muscles had a springy resilience that her massage couldn't penetrate. Tight asses, she thought with some resentment. Men were born with them, lucky dogs.

As her hands crept down gingerly, flirting with his derriere, her stomach clinched tighter and tighter. Deep muscles shivered, sending her an odd little thrill. She almost pulled back. If she hadn't wanted to attract his attention, she would have.

The intimate contact set off another chain reaction. This one was mental, but no less uncontrollable. She was flooded with questions about him. What was happening front and center? she wondered. She was getting rather aroused. Was he? Could he get more aroused than he already was? And more to the point, what was Mr. Quiet-but-Deadly like in bed?

The mere thought made her feel fuzzy and light-headed, especially since it triggered fantasies that were astonishingly graphic. Given the way he drove a car, she would have guessed him to be swift, rough, and passionate. She was sure he was very capable of some incredibly primitive sex, but he didn't seem in any hurry now.

She stopped soaping long enough to let the spray do its work. Water streamed over his back in a gentle rush, carrying the suds away and leaving him gleaming and gorgeous. Sheened by sunlight, his flanks appeared to ripple like an animal's. God, he was so delicious she wanted to bite him. Her sudden desire to do that was sharp and visceral. She could almost taste him in her mouth. Her jaw went slack. Her heart began to clang frantically, and she bent toward him, salivating.

Gus! Be serious. You can't!

She caught herself and swayed dizzily, wanting to laugh. A sound slipped out. Quiet and choked, it was the groan of a woman overcome by an outrageous impulse, an impossible urge, a woman bent on something suicidal. Perspiration chilled the back of her neck, and her tongue darted to the corner or her mouth. Her throat felt full and hot, like a vampire's. No, she couldn't—

She couldn't!

The shower head began to sputter, apparently choked with air bubbles. Somewhere along the roof, pipes rattled and sneezed.

Jack propped his hand against the wall in front of him, wondering why she'd stopped. Water streamed over him, rinsing him clean. "Gus?"

The only answer he got was a strangled gurgle.

He was about to turn when a sharp stab of pain caught him from the rear.
"Ouch!"
He clamped a hand to his butt and twisted around. What the hell had she done? Pinched him?

She looked as shocked as he undoubtedly did, her eyes wide and sparkling, her hand pressed to her mouth. If he didn't know better, he might have thought she—

He lifted his hand and saw the hot, red circle on his abused flesh. Teeth marks? "You
bit
me?"

"No! I know that's what it looks like, but—" She began to laugh helplessly and shake her head, her whole body quivering with some trembling inner ecstasy. "It was just a tiny little thing, a nip. I couldn't help myself. "

"Holy— You bit me!"

She gasped and sighed, falling against the wall for support. "I don't know what came over me. I—"

She was totally out of control, and it was the sexiest damn thing Jack had ever seen. He rubbed his butt and stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell to do with her—besides muzzle her, lower her into the pit, and leave her there for the rattlers. The woman was completely whacked out and totally deserving of her reputation. He should get hazard pay for this detail.

"Fair's fair," she got out between shudders. She turned to the wall and offered him her pink, water-slicked derriere. "Bite me back."

Jack found it difficult to breathe, his gut was so fucking tight. He wanted to oblige her so badly his jaws ached.

Between that and his stinging backside, he was ready to eat her alive. "Don't move, I'm sharpening my teeth. "

Truth was he'd been regretting the decision to get naked with Gus Featherstone from the moment he stepped into the shower. If he'd had to fall off the wagon, he should have done it with the six-pack instead of the woman. A beer would have been safe compared to this, because his need to drink was simple. His need for her was unbelievably complex. It was sexual, but it wasn't just physical. He couldn't get that kind of satisfaction with her. He hadn't come with a woman in years, not since the tragedy with his wife and kid. He'd had sex, lots of it before he began to question the point, but all he'd contributed to each furtive encounter was the thrusting and the sucking and the sweating. He'd withheld even the release a woman could give him because he couldn't give up the control, not even that much. It was holding him together, the control. It was his armor.

Eventually he'd begun to realize that he didn't have the choice anymore. His body had taken over. It would let him fuck, but that was it, no release, no relief, nothing unless he did it himself. It was the ultimate protection against vulnerability, he supposed. But it was damn empty.

What he needed now, what he
craved
from Gus Featherstone was her inner warmth, her female essence. He wanted to know her baby soft skin, her mysterious heat, the curve of her body, the crazy grace of her heart. He hungered for the taste of lips that stumbled over words and sometimes couldn't get them out right. He wanted to know what frightened her, besides his "friend. " And yes, he wanted to bite her delicious ass. Christ! Even just to cup her in his palms would give him such unbelievable pleasure. But if he let himself have all of that, or any of it, he might never be able to go back to what he had now, which was nothing. If he had a taste, he would remember what he was missing.

He would die from the starvation.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, clearly curious about his intentions. He was down to two choices. He could walk out now and pay the price of denying himself. Or he could stay and get to know the real Gus Featherstone, the woman who'd won awards for her butt and was probably as terrified of intimacy as she was of snakes. Either way he would pay.

The pipes rattled above them, and water danced on her shuddering body... her beautiful, naked, shuddering body. Just looking at her made him want to tear the place apart.

Hell, she was making up the rules as she went along.

He would, too.

Chapter 9