Now he was frozen in place. “Nim . . .”
She wrinkled her fingers in front of his shirt, over his belly, scrunching the material out of his jeans. With his only hand trapped in hers, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. Except club her with his hook, maybe, but she was sixty-forty sure it wouldn’t come to that. “You know, nobody tucks in a T-shirt.”
He sucked in a breath. Not to make her job easier, she guessed, so much as to avoid her touch. “A habit from the jungle,” he said. “Tucking in cuffs and hems kept out the mosquitoes and botflies and leeches.”
“Oh, my,” she murmured as she eased his shirt higher. Her fingers tripped up the rippled muscles of his abdomen. “Sexy.”
“What are you doing?” The question grated out past the breath he was still holding.
“Money, time, and the other thing I could always take from a man—his body. But at least I give up my own in return. Fair trade?”
“I have only one arm.”
She blinked at him, unsure if he was serious. “Well, you’re taller than me. So it works out.”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
Didn’t ask for her. “I know.” He was the only man who hadn’t. She knew better than to want things she couldn’t have, but she wanted this man. This good man. She wanted him to want her. Because if he did, then maybe, despite what she’d almost done, what she’d done before, maybe there was good somewhere in her. “It’s a bribe.”
“For what?”
“I don’t want to be in the water alone again.”
“You won’t drown in a shower. You won’t die.”
“Not with you in there.” She let go of his hand to peel the shirt from his shoulders. She let it fall to the floor and took that moment to strip off her own.
Standing only in her black thong, she knew he’d finally give in. Not even a man with demonic strength could resist a black thong.
But when her hand went to his fly, he caught her. “Nim . . . Elaine . . .”
She put her finger over his lips to silence him. “I haven’t been Elaine for a very long time. Elaine would not have survived what happened to Nimue.”
“And now I have the Naughty Nymphette.” His breath teased her skin.
“Not her either. She doesn’t allow touching, remember?” She stroked her finger across his bottom lip. “You were right the first time. It’s Nim. Nobody but Nim.”
His breathing was ragged. Her own wasn’t much better. What she was doing was wrong, selfishly taking advantage of a good man. Well, a good man and a repentant demon. She was wrong to think his goodness would rub off on her. Goodliness, like cleanliness, didn’t transfer. Unlike dirt, blood, and sin, which were endlessly contagious.
But he was the one who’d said “together.”
When she reached for the front of his jeans this time, he didn’t resist.
In fact, parts of him were eager to be free. As she eased the zipper apart and the backs of her fingers grazed his erection through his briefs, his whole body shuddered. Feralis teeth didn’t scare him, but zipper teeth would bring down any man. And bringing this man to his knees was her job.
She’d make him forget he hadn’t wanted her, couldn’t want her.
He kicked off his boots as she pushed down his jeans, his briefs along for the ride. Then he was naked, except for the hook. “Nim . . .”
“I figured out how to pull a soul from a body. I think I can get your arm out of this trap.” She ran her fingers along the straps that cuffed the hook to his upper arm, searching out the snaps. Underneath the pad, knotted scars gnarled his flesh.
He pulled away from her, nudging the hook from her hand. “It’s ugly. The birnenston where I fell sealed the wound. Hellfire saved my life and crippled me for the only purpose I had left.”
“Jonah.” She wasn’t sure what she should say next.
He took the chance away from her. He lifted her off her feet and pushed her through the shower curtain. For a heartbeat, she thought he would leave her standing there alone, but then he was beside her.
The curtain blocked most of the lone lightbulb, and the swirling steam gave the wan light a mysterious glow. It definitely wasn’t demon light, since his reven and hers remained quiescent.
She touched the black lines of the demon that marked his neck.
“No demon,” he murmured, barely audible over the shush of the water. “Just Jonah for nobody but Nim.” He smiled, but fleetingly. “I don’t know if that will be enough anymore.”
She pulled off her thong and tossed it toward the end of the tub. “I guess we’ll find out. Together.”
The bar of soap in his hands gave off no scent beyond clean. “Turn around,” he said. “Let me see where that electrical hook got you.”
She turned obediently in the circle of his arms, and lifted her dreads over her shoulder.
At the first touch of his hand, she closed her eyes. God, he was so gentle. As if she might fall apart. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“It’s all healed.” He slicked the soap down her spine until she was slippery with lather, but stopped short of her buttocks.
She leaned back into him and pulled his arm around her middle. “Let me return the favor.” She rubbed her back into his chest, pleased to hear the rough hitch in his breath.
The soap joined her thong on the bottom of the tub as he twisted her in his grasp and kissed her.
That hadn’t been so hard. Maybe because he was so hard. His erection pressed against her belly, and she felt the answering throb inside her. She wanted this, wanted him since he had teased her during the lap dance, when she was supposed to have been teasing him. He hadn’t meant to, she knew.
Oh, but now he meant to. He sank his fingers into the muscle of her butt and pulled her closer, as if there were a closer when already not even the water droplets could find a way between their bodies.
His mouth angled over hers, almost rough with impatience, and she made a soft sound of pleasure and surprise. He broke off at once and tipped his head back into the stream with a groan.
“Jonah.” She leaned forward to press her lips into his throat. Water sluiced around her mouth. She danced him in an intimate little tango to put the water at her back.
“I want you so much. I’m afraid you’re going to slip away.”
She decided not to remind him that this had been her idea. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said against his skin.
“None of the others could hold you, and they had two hands.”
With a huff, she reached up to frame his face in both hands and forced him to look at her. “Are you trying to piss me off by calling me a whore, or are you angling for my pity?”
His eyes blazed with purely masculine affront. “Neither.”
“Then kiss me again.”
He pulled her up against his chest, anchoring her with his arm at the small of her back. His fingers cupped the back of her head as he brought his mouth down again. He definitely wasn’t going to let her slip anywhere.
Except, maybe, here . . . She sucked in her belly to wedge her hand between their bodies and took him in a gentle grasp. He bucked against her. Just as well he had her locked in an iron hold. At his growl, she laughed against his mouth.
“Easy,” she said.
“Hard,” he corrected. He kicked off the water behind her and pushed aside the curtain. Then she was in his arms again. She wrapped her elbow behind his neck. Despite the slick floor, the soap somewhere underfoot, she felt oddly secure in his hold.
She tucked in her legs as he maneuvered her through the doorway. “I’m still dirty.”