She kept them closed for a long time. Piercing streams of hot water gushed through her hair and down her body. And it wasn’t until she felt sure the soap wouldn’t turn the color of blood that she reached for it and began to wash.
She didn’t know how long she stood there scalding herself, but eventually she reached for the controls and eased the water to a cooler temperature. But the unshed tears behind her eyes continued to burn. She didn’t expect that to stop anytime soon.
She’d just finished rinsing the conditioner from her hair when she heard Dean calling from the next room.
“Hey, you okay in there?”
“I’m fine.” She clenched the shower curtain in her fists, leaning toward the opening in the front. “Are you finished?”
“Everything’s taken care of.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear.
“Listen, maybe I should just go back to the hotel. I need to clean up.”
No. God, no. The very last thing she wanted was to step out of this shower and find herself alone. Alone to pick up her red-stained clothes. Alone to wash the floor. Alone to think about the fact that someone hated her so much he wanted to punish her by killing an innocent animal and spattering its blood across her front door.
Alone to fall into bed and add one more layer to her dark dreams.
“Don’t go,” she said. Realizing she’d whispered again, she cleared her throat. “Dean, please don’t leave.”
Silence. Then, “I’ll wash up in the other bathroom.”
“No.” Leaning her face against the warm tiled wall, she added, “Come in and use this one.”
He didn’t reply at first, and she waited, wondering if she’d just lost her mind. Yes, she’d invited him here tonight fully intending that they’d end the evening in her bed. That was supposed to happen after a beer, some good conversation, more flirting. After at least she’d fixed her hair and maybe scraped a little bit of shadow across her lids. They’d act on the attraction, keep it light and simple, and then proceed.
But now everything was different.
Not only could she barely keep herself upright, but she didn’t look like a woman about to take a lover. She was, in fact, a complete nightmare. Her lips were twisted in grief, her body flushed and reddened from the heat of the water. Her eyes were so damned heavy and sore from unshed tears. Yet she’d asked him to come in.
And that was what he did.
“You holding up?” He stood just inside the doorway, big and powerful, a look of utter tenderness on his face. “Can I do anything?”
That someone so strong and serious could be capable of such compassion and sweetness nearly took her breath away, and she felt on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces. She hadn’t broken down in… well, ever, really. Yet all the years’ worth of just dealing with things as they came had apparently taken their toll. Because right now, after one small, hateful act, she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to make it one more day.
But with Dean, maybe she could.
There was such a depth of humanity in him. A wealth of goodness and understanding, which was contrary to all the things he had to have seen and investigated in his career.
She envied it. More, she wanted it.
Still mostly blocked by the shower curtain, she managed a single word. “Please.”
His eyes met hers. Sealed the connection. Then, without a word, he reached for the top button of his shirt and slipped it open. Though his gaze remained locked with hers, the strong hands moved down, slowly unbuttoning, until he shrugged the shirt off, tossing it to the floor.
Stacey’s heart thudded as she noted the breadth of his shoulders, his massive chest rippled with muscle, and his flat stomach. Clothed, he’d been powerful and hard. Beneath those clothes was a man built to make even a tall, strong woman like herself feel utterly feminine and delicate. Her body, weak, drained, almost physically battered just moments ago, began to thrum again. Heat skittered through her veins, sending blood pulsing back into places where she’d felt empty for a very long time.
This was what she needed. Maybe not for the long term, maybe not even for tomorrow, but for right now, she needed physical connection. With him.
Entirely sure of what she was doing for the first time in forever, she returned her attention to his face. That handsome, concerned expression said he was ready to stop, to leave if she so much as quirked a finger toward the door.
Instead, she drew back the shower curtain.
Dean swallowed visibly, his neck and throat flexing as he studied her. Desire tightened the muscles in his jaw, and his eyes narrowed. He hadn’t touched her with more than a heated stare, yet as he unfastened his jeans and let them fall off his lean hips, she could see the way he swelled in reaction to her nudity.
“You’re sure?” he murmured, the words sounding drawn from the very last wellspring of resistance he owned.
“I need to be with you.”
He didn’t question it. Didn’t focus on the way she’d worded her desire for him. Maybe she was being selfish, but he didn’t call her on it. Instead, he removed the rest of his clothes and stepped to the tub.
“So be with me,” he said as he joined her.
The water had cooled a bit, but she suddenly felt hot again. In silence, he took the soap and washed his hands and arms. When they were scrubbed clean he reached out to touch her. It was the simplest, most tender scrape of his index finger against her jawline.
She felt the connection down to the soles of her feet.
Without a word, she slid her wet hands onto his shoulders and moved closer, until their bodies brushed ever so lightly, hers wet and pliant, his hard and slick. Her pebbled nipples scraped against the dark hair of his chest, sending delicious sensations racing through her.
Dean groaned low in his throat, as if he hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect. Had he thought she merely wanted comforting? A pair of strong shoulders to cry on and a hard body to lean against?
He’d soon know better.
She wanted to grab hold of those strong shoulders, to touch every inch of his hard body. To lightly bite him, and to scratch his powerful back. She wanted her thighs wrapped around his hips, wanted him driving into her with heat and lust until there was no room for thought.
And as she felt him swell and harden to a dizzying size against her hip, she knew she wanted it all twice.
“I want you so much,” she whispered, eliminating all subtlety. “Please don’t make me wait any more.”
Twining her hands behind his neck, she ran the tip of her tongue along his collarbone, needing to taste him. He was salty and warm and masculine; she breathed in his scent and sucked up the delicious heat his body provided.
“Looking at you pulls the breath right out of my lungs,” he admitted, his tone thick and husky with need.
With patience she didn’t know the man could possess, he skimmed his palms over her shoulders, brushing the long, wet strands of hair behind them. It seemed to take forever for his mouth to move toward her temple, then, still with that maddening slowness, down her cheekbone toward her lips.
“Kiss me, Dean.”
He did, giving her not the deep, hungry kiss she’d taken from him in her office, but a lovely, tender one. Softly, gently, he touched his mouth to hers. The water from the shower streamed down their faces, blending on their joined lips and sliding between.
Focused solely on the delicious taste of him, Stacey didn’t have time to prepare herself for the deliberate, steady assault on all the rest of her senses. The pulsing jets of water were not loud enough to drown out the thudding of her heart. The intoxicating scents of warm man and soap and sweat and sex filled the steamy air, drugging her with each inhalation. His hands moved down her sides, tender and deliberate, each stroke both inciting desire and offering incredible pleasure. And when she looked down at him, saw the glory of that masculine body and the powerful erection she would soon take into herself, she quivered with hunger.