He soaped her neck, her collarbone, moved his hands in quick, clinical sweeps. And managed to remain somewhat detached until his gaze hovered on a path of bubbles sliding down her pale skin. The soapy mass disappeared beneath the edge of her bra, and before he could stop them, his eyes dropped to her dark pink areolas, easily discernible behind the now-translucent fabric, then finally lingered on the hard nubs of her nipples.
Blood rushed to his groin. That arousal roared in his veins. Without thinking, he trailed his hands down the outsides of her breasts, pushed her arms aside and rubbed the soapy lather all over her soft, silky abdomen and down to her perfectly flared hips.
She drew in a startled breath but he didn’t look at her face, was suddenly too entranced by her body. His gaze slid farther south, to her wet panties, to the dark vee of hair now easily seen behind the thin satin fabric. To that place he desperately wanted to see more of.
His cock grew thick and hard as he studied each gorgeous inch of her body. As he remembered what she’d felt like in that cave, how she’d tasted against his tongue. And in the silent steam circling his head, he knew without a doubt that he wanted her. More than he had before. More than he’d fathomed possible when he’d decided to pull her into this shower in the first place.
Common sense told him to get the hell out right now, but he ignored it, wanting only to prolong this moment. He dropped to his knees, dragged the bar of soap across one hip and down her thigh. She sucked in another breath and held it, then gently rested her hands against his shoulders as if trying to balance. And this close, with the only sound the rush of water from above, he caught her scent. Jasmine and…the sharp tang of her own arousal.
His gaze darted up in surprise. Her eyes were closed. Her lips tightly compressed. Against his shoulders, her hands tensed as he continued to rub soap all over her legs, but she didn’t push him away. And when his fingers brushed her inner thighs, she moaned.
Holy hell. She was as turned on as he was. The realization made his balls tingle; shot an image of him sliding off her panties, brushing his fingers against her most sensitive flesh ricocheting through his mind until it was all he could focus on.
No. No. He couldn’t do that. He’d promised her he wouldn’t.
Swallowing against the urge, he pushed to his feet. Knew he needed to finish this and refocus. “Turn around.”
She let go of his shoulders, did as he said without a word. And then it was his turn to groan. It had been too dim to see well in the caves but in the fluorescent glow of the bathroom he got his first good look at what he’d only barely had his hands on earlier. Strong toned shoulders, a slim waist, and a firm, tight ass he definitely shouldn’t be staring at now.
Shower…shower…think about showering. Not sex. Definitely not sex. This is about getting clean. Not getting off.
Heat seared his skin, sent sweat slicking his forehead. He swept the soap over her spine harsher than he intended, and only barely brushed her backside before turning her around again. And though he tried not to notice the pink tinge to her cheeks that said she knew exactly what he’d been thinking, he couldn’t ignore the way her eyes remained tightly shut as if she couldn’t stand to face him. As if she were repulsed by him. As if he were every bit the monster she believed him to be.
The arousal he’d felt before swept out on a wave. A mixture of disappointment and anger rushed in to fill the void. What did he expect? That she’d like his touch? That she’d want him after everything he’d done? He really was psychotic if he thought she’d ever see him as a man. Clenching his jaw, he ran the soap down her arms to her fingers, all the while calling himself a fucking idiot, then faltered when he caught sight of the fine white lines all over the soft skin of her inner arms.
Scars? He couldn’t tell. But a glance at her face told him now—when she clearly only wanted to get as far away from him as possible—was not the time to ask.
He slapped the bar in her hands. “Hold this.”
Large, onyx eyes peered up at him as he poured shampoo from the travel bottle on the side of the shower into his palm and lathered her hair. Eyes he tried like hell to ignore. Eyes that dragged at his attention because they were so damn mesmerizing.
He ground his teeth together, focused on his task. But when her hands landed against his forearms, heat ricocheted through his body all over again. And the groan that slipped from her lips nearly made him come out of his skin.
Gods, the sounds she made. His hands stilled in her soapy hair. He chanced a look at her face, saw her eyes were closed once more. But this time pleasure, not pain, coated her features. And his cock grew hard once more with the prospect of hearing her moan like that when he was touching her elsewhere. When he was kissing her. When he was inside her.
No sex. No sex. Nooooooo sex.
“Tip your head back,” he said between clenched teeth.
He quickly rinsed the lather from her hair. Took the soap from her hand and turned away so she couldn’t see the erection pushing against his soaked boxer briefs. As rapidly as he could, he lathered his chest and stomach. Told himself to remember why the hell he was keeping her with him. Not for his own perverse pleasure, but so he could think.
He leaned forward, cringed at the pain in his dick and scrubbed the grime from his legs. After lathering his face, he set the bar in the dish, then stepped sideways around her to reach the spray. Water sluiced over his cheeks, did shit to cool him down. He rubbed his eyes, then froze when small hands landed softly against his back.
She was touching him. Holy gods she was touching him and he hadn’t asked. Or ordered. Or even begged. Soap slid over his skin, ran up his spine, then across his shoulders. Her fingers were small and dainty, her touch gentle. Gooseflesh jumped out all over his skin while his pulse pumped hard and that erection he’d worked to deflate came roaring back.
“Wh—what are you doing?” he asked.
“Helping.” She set the soap down, reached for the shampoo he’d used on her. “Turn around and lean forward. I can’t reach your hair.”
His pulse turned to a roar in his ears. He knew he shouldn’t, that it was a bad idea to let her touch him any more than she already had, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from turning. At the last second some sense of decency shot through him, and he bent forward at the hips so she couldn’t see the effect she had on him. Her fingers slid into his hair. His curled into his palms so he wouldn’t react to her. But when her nails raked his scalp, tingles rushed all down his spine, sending a shiver over his skin he couldn’t contain.
“Am I hurting you?”
Gods, no. Her hands felt good. So good, he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. He managed a quick shake of his head, braced one hand against the wall so he wouldn’t fall. Tried not to lose it from so little contact. But damn, she looked like a wet dream, smelled like a fantasy. And her hands…they were pure heaven.
“Tip your head back,” she said.
His eyes slid closed at the husky timbre of her voice. He didn’t care anymore if she saw he had the mother of all hard-ons. He was lost in an erotic fantasy he didn’t want to wake up from. Of this beautiful creature touching, lathering, caressing every inch of his skin. Water ran down his face and dribbled across his back. Her delicate fingers landed on his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen. His skin tingled with the need for her touch elsewhere…everywhere. As he imagined those hands sliding down his stomach and into his boxers. Wrapping about his—