Smart and Sexy (10 page)

Before he could do anything stupid, like suggest they conserve water and shower together, or better yet just get down on his knees and beg to worship at the temple of her body, she stepped into the water and shut the glass door.

“Okay, then,” he said, and backed to the bathroom doorway, running into it like an idiot. “I’ll just be out here if you need anything.”
Please need something.

Me.

She didn’t answer, so he stepped outside the bathroom. Paused. Waited. She still said nothing, so with no choice left, he shut the door. Leaning back on it, he surveyed the master suite and let out a slow, deliberate breath.

Because he wasn’t seeing the huge bed, piled high with luxurious bedding. He wasn’t seeing the gorgeous oak furniture, or the huge picture window revealing the dark, dark night.

He could see only Bailey, and how she’d just looked beneath the streaming, steaming hot water running in rivulets down her body—

He thunked his head back against the door, but the image didn’t dispel. It seemed like days ago since he’d gotten onto the Piper to come here. Days since he’d first looked into Bailey’s eyes and been drawn in…

Since that thought brought him back to her naked and wet and gleaming, he tightened his jaw and stalked out of the bedroom, making his way through the house, checking each door and window lock.

The shower was still running.

In the kitchen, he put water on to boil, got out a mug and found some tea. When he had it steeping, he picked it up and headed back to the bedroom. He looked at the bathroom door. She’d been in there long enough to broil herself. “Bailey?” He knocked twice.

Nothing. Just the water hitting the tiles.

And suddenly, he got worried. Or
more
worried. “Bailey? You okay?”

Again with the no-answer thing.

The hell with preserving her privacy, he thought, and helped himself to the door.

T
he shower looked empty. Heart in his throat, Noah set the mug down on the counter and yanked open the glass door.

And felt his heart crack.

Bailey was huddled on the floor in a ball, her head bent over her knees.

Yeah, all distance had definitely gone out the window. He’d done as she’d wanted; he’d gotten her to Mammoth. Now he should turn around and get her the hell out of here, or walk away.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t walk away from her and didn’t know who could.

She hadn’t moved. Concerned, he stepped right into the shower and squatted down at her side. “Bailey.”

She jerked as if she’d been shot, and then stared at him from hollow, haunted eyes.

She’d fallen asleep, he realized, just sitting right there, too exhausted to even move.

He knew how she felt. Even now, with the water beating down on his back, soaking into his jeans, he felt the same.

The water was beating down on her as well, and with her hair in her face, and the little bit of mascara she’d had left smudged beneath her eyes, she looked like a drowned rat.

Ah, hell, who was he kidding? She looked hot. Way too hot to touch, but he couldn’t just leave her there. He stood and turned off the water. “Come on, Princess,” he murmured, and scooped her up into his arms.
Not
noticing how her bare wet skin felt in his hands, he told himself.
Not
noticing that her pale blue satin panties and pink bra had gone sheer, and snug as a second skin, revealing far more than they hid.

Christ, she was mouth-watering.

Nope,
not
noticing. He tossed a towel around her, did his best to dry her off some, and carried her into the bedroom. He went to set her down on the floor next to the bed so that he could pull back the comforter, but she tightened her grip around his neck and burrowed in, making a soft little sound that tugged right at his gut.

“I’ve got to set you down,” he said. “And get your wet things off.”

She loosened her hold, and he let her slide to the carpet, maybe coincidentally keeping her snug against him as he leaned over the mattress and yanked down the covers.

Or not coincidentally.

Dropping the towel, she moved to crawl into the bed, but he stopped her. “Your things…” He gestured to her bra and panties, which were outlining every curve and nuance. Her breasts were pushed up, her nipples two tight points. Her belly rose and fell quickly with her stressed breathing. And those panties, the way they clung to her every single jaw-dropping, sexy, erotic inch.

But he might as well try to stop breathing.

Or to not get impossibly hard at the sight of her.

Yeah, like that was in his control.

“Sorry,” she actually said, and reached behind her to unhook her bra, while he stood there afraid his tongue would fall out and embarrass him.

A man should not go six months without sex, he told himself. Should. Not. Because now, suddenly, the only thing that was going to make him feel better was exactly that, complete with a mind-blowing orgasm, the hotter, the sweatier, the wilder, the better.

It was crazy, beyond crazy, but after the unexpectedly rough flight with the landing gear troubles, then the goons with guns, the wild goose chase…they were finally going to end up naked.

Just to prevent hypothermia.

A big, fat lie, by the way. He hated liars, and he’d become one, but with the feeling of Bailey wrapped around him like warm honey as she’d been, he didn’t give a shit.

She was struggling with the clasp on her bra, her motions lethargic, as if she was so out of energy she could barely move. In the meantime, with her arms behind her, her breasts were thrust out like two ripe offerings. Water from her hair dripped down her belly and into her panties, which concealed exactly nothing, not the fact that she was neatly trimmed or that she was a natural strawberry blonde.

Jesus.

“I can’t—” Her voice was slurred with sheer exhaustion.

“Here.” Putting his hands to her shoulders, he turned her around and brushed her hands aside. Her shoulders and neck were bared because her hair had fallen to her front, showing off her smooth, beautiful back, the way her sexy-as-hell panties had given her a world-class wedgie—

“Noah?”

Right. The bra. “Yeah,” he said, tearing his eyes off her ass and the wet satin invading it, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears as he unhooked her bra.

Head bent, she let the material fall to the floor. Unable to help himself, his gaze slid back down. “Uh—”

Her fingers hooked into the little wisp of material still at her hips.

Again, he stopped breathing.

With a tug and a little shimmy, she began to slide the panties off.

And for just a moment, he actually died.

Oblivious, she bent over, and he realized he hadn’t died, not yet anyway, because there was blood rushing through his veins, beating with a loud BOOM, BOOM, BOOM at the sight of her as she bent, naked, totally exposed—

“Tired,” she murmured, and straightening, crawled up onto the mattress, nearly making his eyes pop right out of their sockets at the sight of her briefly on all fours as she moved to the center of the bed.

She was the most gorgeous, sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Then she slipped beneath the covers, turned on her side away from him, and didn’t budge.

“Yeah, uh…I’ll just crank the electric blanket.” He did that, then stood there like the fool he was, dripping all over the carpet, shivering, hard as a rock.

And there was nothing, nothing in the world, worse than being in wet Levi’s when hard as a rock.

She didn’t move.

“I’m going to get out of my wet things,” he heard himself say.

She didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t say a word.

He unbuttoned his Levi’s and grimaced as he attempted to shuck himself out of the wet denim. He’d already kicked off his shoes, so he tried to get his drenched sock off, but that turned out not to be a good idea with his jeans stuck wet and clinging to his thighs, and he fell over.

Lying on the floor, his ass hanging out, his legs caught in the damned wet jeans, he sighed. “I’m okay,” he said.

To no one.

When he managed to kick free of the jeans, he stood up. All he could see of Bailey was the top of her still damp hair, but he could have sworn he could hear her teeth chattering together.

Damn.

Well, that left him no choice, right? He had to warm her up, ward off the impending hypothermia. It was his civic duty. So he quickly dried off, lifted the edge of the comforter, and slid in. Oh, yeah, the sheets were warm, thanks to the electric blanket and the down comforter.

So he had no idea why he breached the halfway point of the huge bed and bumped up against a nude, curvy, deliciously warm Bailey. Oops. He was on her side. Unfortunately, his arms slid around her before he could stop himself, and he pulled her back against his chest and thighs, snuggling in.

“Mmm,” left her lips, but other than that, she said nothing.

Nor did she move away. In fact, she didn’t move at all.

Encouraged by that, he braced his head on one hand, the other skimming up her side as he looked down at the only thing visible outside the covers—her face.

And had to laugh.

She was asleep. As in dead-to-the-world, one-hundred-percent asleep, while he was hotter than he’d ever been, harder than he’d ever been….

For a woman so terrorized, she didn’t even realize he was in bed with her. He didn’t care. He had no idea how sick that made him, but was fairly certain it made him pretty sick.

In her sleep, she snuffled and made some sort of soft whimper. “Shh,” he murmured, hand on her belly, stroking lightly up and down. “I’ve got you.”

Absorbing his words, she sighed, and wriggled just a little bit closer, which involved her sweet bare ass pressing into his hard-enough-to-hammer-steel self.

She slept on.

Yeah,
that
was good for the ego.

She sighed again, wriggled again for more. Her hair tickled his nose, and instead of brushing it away, he buried his face in the rioted mess, then found himself pressing his mouth to her neck.

God, she was sweet. Sweet and pale with exhaustion, and he just breathed her in. He needed to let her sleep. But unable to resist, he smoothed her damp hair off her face and let his mouth take itself on a little trail down her throat and back up to her ear, breathing her in as if she could be his air.

Her hand squeezed his, and another little sigh escaped her, though she didn’t awaken. He thought of the night she’d had, of the days leading up to it that he still didn’t know enough about to suit him, and understood whatever happened had been brutal, and she’d been through hell. Empathy swamped him, and he rubbed his jaw down the side of her neck.

“Mmmm,” she sighed again, with another enticing wriggle, and this time something else rose within him, something far more physically based.

He danced his hand up and down her belly again. Up, up…

To the very undersides of her breasts…

Oh, God, she felt like heaven…and down, down low enough to run into the very tippy top of her strawberry blond mound…

Again she rocked her bottom against him, making him twitch.

A little whimpery sound that in fact could have been a half sob escaped her and tore at his gut. He pressed his lips to her jaw, her cheek, helpless to resist her smooth skin. Her breathing evened out at just the feel of him, and that, too, brought a deep surge of satisfaction. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.

“Noah,” she murmured, not moving, not even to open her eyes.

“Yeah. Me.” Feeling the weight of her exhaustion, he was glad she didn’t move. He kissed her jaw again, and then her throat, groaning when she took his wandering hand in both of hers and brought it up to her breasts.

His fingers stroked her hard, pebbled nipples as his mouth worked its way to her shoulder, nudging the covers down as he went so he could lean over her and get a good look at what he exposed. He completely melted at the sight of her pale breasts and his own tanned fingers playing with her nipples. He let the blanket fall to her waist.

And the truth hit him like a one-two punch—the more he saw of her, the more he wanted, and the stronger the need for her became.

What was that?

He had no idea, but neither did he have any resistance to fight it. It was a wrenching realization of how bad he had it for her. “God, you’re beautiful.”

In answer, she burrowed back beneath the covers so that he could see nothing now but a cloud of strawberry blond waves, but…but she didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, she pushed it down, while he tried to keep from drooling all over her, tried to keep from begging her to continue letting him touch her because her nipples were the most gorgeous nipples he’d ever seen….

But where she pushed his hand—past her quivering belly into the slippery satin and between her thighs—worked, too, and he spread his fingers to touch as much of her as he could.

She let out a needy murmur, one that had his name on it, and nearly had him coming right then and there.

“Noah,” she gasped, her body arching up when he moved his fingers, increasing the rhythm. God, he still couldn’t get enough of her.

Still fully covered by the down comforter, she rolled to her back, giving him better access.

Which he gladly took.

Keeping his hand on her, he slid his face just beneath the blanket, pressing his mouth to her shoulder while working her into a feverish pitch with his fingers. Another soft sound came from her throat, and she blindly turned her face toward his. An invitation if ever he’d seen one, and he snatched it, lowering his mouth to hers.

She made the sound again and opened her legs for him, and he didn’t hold back, running his tongue over her lower lip, drawing it into his mouth to suck, then caressing it again as he glided his fingers over her. Into her.

She gasped his name, and he leaned over her, inhaling her scent, the soft feel of her beneath him, the way she panted in his ear, how her mouth clung to his as if maybe, just maybe, he was a lifeline for her, the way she’d become one for him.

Her breathing had turned into a mantra of his name, and he increased the pressure of his fingers, making her cry out, a needy sound that went straight to his groin. The covers slipped to her shoulders. Her eyes were open, glossed over and disoriented with sleep and desire, and he didn’t care. He kissed her again.

And again.

Her face was flushed, her mouth wet from his, and that wasn’t the only place she was wet. She was drenched, for him, and the knowledge brought a surge of pleasure so sharp he couldn’t contain his groan, or keep his fingers from playing in her slippery heat.

“Please,” she whimpered into his mouth, rocking her hips in tune with his fingers, urging him into her rhythm, but he already knew it. Somehow he already knew her, knew what made her hum with pleasure, knew how to turn her moans into gasping, hungry cries, how to drive her up higher and higher until her body went tight and then even tighter, until her hands came down over his as if to hold him there, as if afraid he’d pull away and stop.

Not going to happen. He kept with her, increasing the pressure and pace as she wanted, tugging the blanket down so he could watch, which nearly had him losing it.

Her eyes were closed, her mouth open as she gasped for air, her breasts full, her nipples peaked tight, her belly quivering as he moved his fingers on her, in her. Bending, he took one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked hard as he stroked her, and she went taut as a bow, and then burst.

He couldn’t tear his eyes off her as she exploded for him, on him, all over him. It was the hottest, most erotic experience of his life, and he hadn’t even been touched.

Her hips slowed, and she released his hand, probably as reality hit. She made a sound, one that held more than a touch of embarrassment, and without looking at him, rolled to her side, away from him.

He didn’t react as fast as she, and was slow to take his hand off her, letting it glide up over her hip, over her ribs, barely skimming the very bottom curve of a breast before he withdrew. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he covered her back up, covered them both back up, and by the time he snuggled in behind her, she was dead asleep again, lost in dreamland, hopefully where there were no bad guys with guns, and most likely where there was no him either.