by Jennie Marts
He knew the right thing to do, the chivalrous thing. Finding his voice, he leaned toward her ear. “I’ll give you some privacy and see if I can find you some dry clothes.”
She whispered one word, but he heard it as clearly as if she’d shouted.
“Stay.”
Chapter 11
It was one word, but it was the only word Mason needed to hear.
He didn’t answer, didn’t have to, but something in him—some tightly wound coil in his chest—loosened a little, and he let out a shaky breath.
Okay. Yes. He would stay.
Something told him that he still needed to take it slowly, that this woman was more fragile than she let on. He took the smallest step forward, closing the distance between them and sliding his arms around her waist.
She leaned back against him, letting out a sigh as she melted in to his chest. Steam rose in the shower as the space and their bodies warmed.
He didn’t know what to do, what to say. So he did nothing. He just stood with her, holding her, letting her get comfortable with him, letting her get to know his body and to feel the weight of his arms around her.
Tessa Kane was a mystery to him, sometimes acting fun and flirty and full of confidence—he loved that—but other times acting timid and shy and unsure of herself. He had to admit, he kind of liked that Tessa as well. That Tessa was the one he wanted to shelter, to take care of, to prove to that he was a guy worthy of her attention.
The only problem being that he wasn’t sure if he was that guy.
But he wanted to be.
So, he’d wait. He’d be patient. He could do that. He could let her take the lead, let her direct the next step. She’d already asked him to stay, so he knew she wanted something. But he’d let her be the one to decide what that something was.
She could decide to keep things light and in the zone of first or second base, which was fine. He would enjoy kissing her and touching whatever she let him get his hands on.
Or…she could take it to the next level, the one where their clothes disappeared and he had her naked and gasping against the shower wall.
He held his breath, his patience already failing him, as he hoped like hell she’d pick the latter.
She turned around and took a deep breath, almost as if she were gathering her courage. Then she glanced down at his waist. “Those wet jeans look heavy. And uncomfortable.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Yeah. They are.”
She raised her eyes, staring straight into his with a boldness that sent licks of heat curling down his spine. Her voice was low, but direct. “You should take them off.”
Yes, ma’am.
His lips curved into a grin as he fumbled with the button of his jeans. His hands shook, but it wasn’t from the cold.
Hadn’t he just been hoping that she’d make a move? So why was his heart slamming against his chest and his pulse racing as if he’d just run a hundred-meter dash?
He couldn’t believe how nervous this one woman was making him. And how much he wanted to please her.
Hell, how much he wanted her, period.
They were still fully clothed, but the outline of their bodies through the wet fabric was almost more enticing than if they had been naked.
Almost. But not quite. Naked was always better.
The denim was stiff and unwieldy as he pushed his jeans down his legs, stepped out of them, and kicked them to the back of the shower.
He was wearing boxer briefs, but of course they were white. And would leave little to her imagination. It would only take one glance to know that the denim of his jeans was not the only thing around here that was stiff.
She boldly gazed down, and another smile crept across his face, this one of pride as he watched her eyes widen and the corners of her lips curve.
He pointed to her waist. “So those shorts you’re wearing look pretty heavy and uncomfortable too.”
She smiled coyly, jutting one hip out just the slightest. “You’re right. What do you think I should do about it?”
He swallowed. Damn, but he did like this woman. Finding his voice, he huskily ordered, “You should take them off.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Only if you take your shirt off first.”
He whipped his shirt over his head, cussing as the wet fabric caught for a second on his ear, then tossed the shirt to the floor. He lifted his chin, silently challenging her to make the next move.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He didn’t want to miss one moment of this show.
And she did put on a show.
She slowly—Lord help him, so slowly—unbuttoned her shorts, slid down the zipper, then inched them over her hips. Wiggling a little, she worked the shorts down, then kicked them over next to his jeans.
A tiny scrap of pink silk held up by a lacy band was all she had on for underwear, and Mason silently thanked whoever had invented thong panties and convinced women to wear them.
She stood in front of him, her fist planted on her hip, as if daring him to look at her.
That was a dare he would take.
His gaze traveled over her. All she still wore were the tiny panties, her bra, and the white tank top. And all of it was clinging to her skin, the fabric sheer and clearly showing every part of her. With her arms at her sides, every detail of her full breasts was on display, and the pink nubs of her nipples poked through the thin cotton.
His hands itched to touch her, to be filled with her lush curves. And his mouth craved to taste her, to lick, to nibble, to suck.
But as bold as she was acting, he was pretty sure this was an act. Somehow he didn’t think she was actually as confident as she was leading him to believe. So he held back, giving her the reins and letting her make the moves. Letting her direct this scene.
She picked up the soap, slowly rolling it in her hands, working up a lather before she set it back down.
He caught his breath, anticipating the feel of her fingers against his skin as she moved her hands toward his chest.
Sliding her soapy hands along his shoulders, his chest, and his stomach, she left a trail of frothy bubbles.
Her fingers were slick as she circled his chest, then traced his nipple. His heart was tripping so hard she had to feel it under her palm.
His blood, hot, pounded through his veins. He was surprised the water wasn’t steaming as it hit his heated skin and washed the soap away.
She leaned toward him, her beautiful mouth coming close to his neck. Slowly, seductively, she pressed her lips to his throat and ran her tongue against the hollow. She was tormenting him.
And he loved it. Loved the way she touched him, the way she moved, the way her wet skin glistened. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
As hard as it was, he kept his hands to himself and instead lifted his gaze from her body and looked into her eyes. “Can I touch you?” he whispered.
Her voice was low, raspy, as if she couldn’t quite find her breath. “I think I’ll die if you don’t.”
Hearing the sexy confidence in her voice was utterly intoxicating.
And that was all he’d needed to hear.
He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to adore her.
She was his fantasy. Actually, she was beyond anything he’d ever fantasized about.
The heated tension in the air between them seemed to hum as he lifted his hand to her waist, then let it travel up her side in a slow, deliberate slide.
She was watching him, her eyes half-closed and her lips slightly parted. She watched as he slowly ran the backs of his fingers across her stomach and up between the center of her cleavage, then across the perfect round tops of her breasts. And she watched as he circled her hard, taut nipple, then leisurely slid his thumb over the pebbled tip.
Her eyelids fluttered, but she kept them open, letting out a soft moan as he
drew the wet fabric of her shirt and bra down, dragging the lace edge across the delicate nub before fully exposing one lush breast.
Even though he could see every detail through the wet fabric, the contrast of having one breast free and bare was beyond arousing.
And he couldn’t get over how exciting it was to have her watching every move he made. Every rub and caress of her breast, every stroke and squeeze that tightened her nipples even more.
He forced himself not to take one between his lips. Not yet. Instead he drew out the delicious torture of touching her. She was so beautiful, everything about her perfect.
Finally, slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips into the soft curve of her shoulder. She dropped her head back, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.
And he wanted to take her then.
But instead, he took his time drawing it out. It was his turn to torture her with a slow seduction. He kissed his way down her throat to the swell of her cleavage, then across the breast that was still covered by her shirt. He’d been dying to touch it, touch her, since they’d first been caught in the rain and her shirt had gotten wet.
Sliding his tongue over her shirt, he circled her nipple, then drew it into his mouth, sucking her through the fabric.
She wriggled and let out another moan, and he couldn’t take it. He yanked the fabric down, freeing both of her breasts and finally taking them in his hands, filling his palms with their fullness as he licked and kissed and tasted her, sipping and sucking at each tip.
Her hands splayed against the shower wall as she arched her back, offering more of herself.
And he took it. He pulled her against him, her round breasts slipping and sliding against the soap still clinging to his chest. He kissed her mouth, darting his tongue between her lips as he ravaged her.
Her lips were warm and pliant, and she urged him on with moans and whimpers, her hands tangling in his wet hair.
Bracing his hands on either side of her, he pressed her against the shower wall, every inch, every curve of her body enveloped by his.
He loved the way she moved, the way she writhed against him, loved those freaking sexy-as-hell sounds she made and gritted his teeth to stay in control.
He couldn’t get enough of her, of the way her flesh quivered under his touch. He wanted more, wanted to touch every part of her. His hands roamed over her skin, learning her body, discovering what she liked and what seemed to make her crazy.
Those were his favorite parts.
She was so damn sexy, tempting him with every inch of her creamy skin and her luscious curves.
His hand slid down her side and over her hip, then she parted her legs just slightly, just enough to serve as an invitation, and he slipped his hand between them, skimming around the tiny scrap of silk as he claimed her.
He held her in the palm of his hand. Literally.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she pressed against his palm, urging him on. And he obliged her with slow, steady strokes, giving her all his attention until her gasps became shuddering cries and her knees gave way as she sagged against him.
He lovingly kissed her shoulder, then pulled her tank top over her head and dropped it to the shower floor. She let him undress her, her body languid as he peeled the rest of her clothes off, then turned off the spray of water.
Opening the shower door, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, then twisted another one around his waist before leading her into the bathroom.
With slow, deliberate movements, he dried her off, pressing the dark lengths of her hair between the folds of the towels. It took only seconds for him to swipe the towel across his body and call it good.
He didn’t care if he was still a little wet; he needed her in his bed—and needed her now.
Dropping both towels on the floor, he bent down and slid his arm behind her legs, lifting her up and cradling her against his body as he carried her into the bedroom.
* * *
The late-afternoon light filled the dim room. The rain had let up to a steady drizzle, but the storm was still raging inside Tess as Mason stepped into his bedroom.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe that this ridiculously hot cowboy had just taken her to O-Town in the shower and was now carrying her to his bed.
Carrying her.
All five feet, nine inches of her.
This was the kind of night every woman dreamed about. Was she really doing this? She felt like a different person. Like someone she didn’t even recognize. Like a woman playing a part in a movie. A seriously sexy, hot-as-hell movie.
And she was the star.
It was almost as if having Mason ask her to be his date had given her license to actually make herself over into that role, to imagine herself to be the kind of woman who would casually be invited to accompany a seriously sexy cowboy on a weekend of fun.
The kind of woman maybe she really wanted to be.
Because the funny thing was, as different as it felt to let that part of herself loose, she loved the woman she’d been portraying, the woman who was sexy and confident, who lived in the moment, and who took what she wanted.
And she wanted this man. She wanted Mason, not just with her body, but with her entire soul.
He pulled back the comforter and laid her gently on the bed. The sheets were soft against her skin, and she fell back, her head nestling in the pillows.
She didn’t care that she was naked, didn’t care that he was staring at her body with a look of ravenous desire. Let him look. Because the way he was looking at her made her feel different, like a new Tess. A Tess who could seduce a cowboy right out of his jeans.
Her pulse raced as he climbed onto the bed and braced his arms around her head, holding himself above her.
He looked down at her, their stares locked.
Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, and a growl sounded in the back of his throat. His excitement fueled her own, and she looked into his face, losing herself in his brown eyes.
He moved slowly, with utter restraint. The opposite of her. She felt anything but restraint. All she wanted was full abandon and more of the frenzied, heated passion they’d had in the shower.
Her gaze traveled over him—over his strong jaw and down to the muscles in his neck—and she couldn’t get enough. He was so damn handsome.
He lowered himself down onto one elbow. As his chest pressed against hers, she swore she felt his heartbeat, its rhythm seeming perfectly matched to her own.
He lifted a hand to her face and cupped her chin. “Are you good?”
Lord, could this man be any hotter?
“I’m more than good,” she said, offering him her most wicked, come-hither smile. “I’m excellent.”
“Yes, I would agree. You are.” He grinned, then pressed a kiss to her lips.
His kiss was a soft promise, not a demand.
She kissed him back, loving the feel of her bare breasts against his muscled chest and the way his large hand gripped her waist and pulled her snug against him.
Then his hands seemed to be touching her everywhere at once.
And she was touching him, running her hands over his muscled back, kissing the hard planes of his shoulder, the soft indents of his neck. His body was like a treasure that she’d just discovered, and she let herself explore every measure of him. Every measure.
And he certainly measured up.
The new Tess—the confident, brazen Tess—came unbound, guiding her hands and her mouth and urging her to be bold and ask for what she wanted. “I want you,” she whispered against Mason’s ear. “Now. Now would be good.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him as he leaned over and pulled out the drawer of his nightstand. She heard the whisper of a foil packet and watched as he moved back to his knees, tearing the packet open and covering himself.
He gazed down at
her, the passion in his eyes so intense that it made it hard for her to breathe. But she couldn’t look away. She wanted to see him, to see them, to experience every delicious moment of this night.
He brushed his fingers across her stomach, and she arched her back, her body crying out for more.
She needed to feel him, all of him.
Skimming his hand down her thighs, he gently pressed her legs wider and settled between them. She could feel her legs trembling as his muscular thighs met hers.
Her chest rose and fell with each jagged breath she took. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. She was ready for him, so ready.
And so not ready.
Not ready for the depths of desire, the heights of passion, or the intensity of the emotions that were flowing through her.
Their bodies seemed to have been made for each other, and she savored the weight of his body on top of hers, delighted in the fullness of him. She buried her face in his shoulder and loved hearing the soft, rumbling moans that came from deep in his throat. His breath came in rough gasps, almost animalistic in his response to her, and she loved that too.
This was real. This had to be real.
Her mind spun with conflicting thoughts about how amazing this all seemed, and yet tiny doubts crept in of why he would pick her and if this really meant anything to him.
Stop thinking! Stop analyzing!
Forget rational thought. She wanted to feel, not think. She let everything else go and simply gave in to the desires racing through her.
She let the sweet sensations build in her, swirling and spinning, until they were soaring through her entire body, until shudders ran through her and she cried out and fell apart in his arms.
* * *
Hours and several more sweet sensations later, they lay naked and tangled together in the sheets.
Tess snuggled against Mason’s body, still amazed at the way their bodies seemed to fit so perfectly together. Still amazed at his body, period. All that raw muscle and those hard abs. This afternoon had been like a fantasy, like something out of a movie, and she didn’t want it to end.
