“Need to shower,” she said, drawing him through the door into the en suite. He went willingly, without releasing her. She had an open-plan bathroom, with a tiled floor and a shower head attached to one wall. She started the stream of water, then melted into his arms. He dropped kisses on her lips, cheeks, eyelids, then turned her head to the side so he could access the length of her neck. It was white and smooth and so fucking perfect. He latched onto the point where her pulse beat, and sucked. She moaned, sounding deep and contented.
Just like that, he was hard again.
He grabbed the hem of her shirt, but before he could pull it over her head, her hands flew down to stop him.
“Um,” she said, licking those delicious peach lips, her hands still confounding his efforts to get her naked. She swallowed, and he watched her throat work. “The thing is, I’m not built like a fitness model.” She met his eyes. “And I have a scar from surgery.” She lifted her shoulders ever so slightly and dropped them. “Just thought I should warn you.”
“Brooke, it makes no difference to me if you have green alien skin beneath this shirt. I’m still gonna want you.”
“Okay, then.”
She didn’t believe him? He’d just have to prove it.
“Can I?” he asked, tugging on the hem. She raised her arms and let him remove her shirt. He did so gently, easing it over her head, and stood back to look at her. Pale, flat stomach—soft, like the rest of her. The scar she’d been so worried about was a thin pink line running down her sternum, several inches long, the center of her bra passing over it. He touched a fingertip to the scar and traced it from bottom to top. He’d known about her heart surgery, but for some reason it had only ever been a distant concept. Here was the proof of a very real procedure. Her chest had been opened up for a life-and-death operation, and his own heart wrenched at the thought of what she’d been through. She was a survivor. A warrior.
“It’s hideous,” she muttered.
Tenderness surged within him. “It’s part of you,” he replied. “And it’s beautiful, because it means you’re still here, with me. You made it through.”
Her gaze flew up to his. “Kiss me, Jack.”
The way he looked at her… God, his admiration was a potent aphrodisiac. Brooke locked her hands behind his head and dragged him down for a long, thorough kiss, trying to convey through her actions how much his words meant to her. Jack wasn’t a shallow boy, he was a man—one she wanted with every fiber of her being.
“Wow,” he said, as their lips separated. “We gotta get you into that shower, or I’m taking you right fucking now, sweaty or not.”
She laughed and wrestled her sports bra off, then pulled the tie out of her hair and tugged off her shorts and underwear, not giving him a chance to ogle her before she stepped under the spray. But as the water soaked her hair and ran in rivulets down her back, over her breasts, and to the floor, she kept her attention focused on him, not wanting to miss a moment of the show as he performed a similarly hurried striptease.
His hard stomach rippled as he took his shirt off, and dark hair dusted his chest, with another arrow of hair disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. His shoulders were broad and bulky, his nipples little brown nubs. She swallowed as her eyes tracked lower. There was a bulge beneath the fly of his jeans. An impressively-sized bulge. One she wanted bare as soon as possible. He caught her gaze and one side of his mouth quirked up in a cocky smirk. He undid the zipper agonizingly slowly, and a groan of frustration tore from her throat.
His chocolate eyes darkened. “Patience,” he teased.
“I’ve been patient enough,” she grumbled. “Hurry up. The sooner we get clean, the sooner we both get what we want.”
He laughed, stepping out of his jeans. “You know, the shower doesn’t have to be a means to an end. You might enjoy it more than you think.”
She swallowed. Did he mean sex in the shower? Yeah, she knew some people did that, but had never thought anyone would want her so much that they couldn’t wait ten minutes until they were somewhere more comfortable. Shower sex was for people so carried away by lust that they didn’t notice how awkward it was.
“Uh-uh,” she said. “I doubt it.”
His smile faded. “Then I guess I’d better persuade you otherwise.”
With a smooth motion, he removed his underwear and stalked toward her, his thick erection bobbing with each step. If she had been wearing panties, they would have been soaked, and not just from the shower. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to contain herself, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was all man. His strong legs were corded with muscle, and at their apex was a thatch of dark hair with his dick jutting proudly from it. The visual overwhelmed her. She whimpered, and automatically, his entire drool-worthy body tensed.
“You like what you see?” he demanded.
“It’s all right,” she said, her voice husky.
One eyebrow leapt up. “Just all right?” He stepped closer, crowding her, but not quite touching. “I think you like me better than ‘all right.’”
She swayed toward him, initiating contact. Her slick skin slid against his, the sensation divine. Her eyelids fluttered closed. “Okay,” she admitted. “I like it a whole lot.”
He growled in satisfaction, and his arms went around her, fingers sinking into her ass to drag her closer. “That’s what I thought.”
He tilted her face up as he lowered his, and their lips met halfway. The kiss consumed them. She was aware of nothing but the texture of his lips, and the exquisite press of his erection to the part of her that seemed to have become the new center of her nervous system. His hands smoothed up her sides, and came around to cup her face. They felt large and rough against her skin, and she shivered. He was turning her into nothing but a puddle of endorphins.
Who knew kissing could be so good?
Then he drew away. She tried to clutch him closer, but he gently disengaged and reached for the soap.
“You wanted to be clean, remember?” His voice was so low, she felt it as much as heard it.
“I changed my mind.”
He shook his head. “I’ll clean you.”
Oh, hell. Did he actually mean…?
Rubbing the bar of soap between his hands, he worked up a lather, then set his palms to her shoulders and spread the soap over them with gliding movements. She bit her lip, determined not to moan. He was toying with her. Trying to drive her crazy. But she could handle it.
His hands journeyed down to her breasts, where he proceeded to do a very thorough job of cleaning her. His outdoorsman hands were dark against her pale breasts, and the contrast excited her. He rubbed his thumbs over the tips, then continued downward, splaying his hands over her belly, making her a writhing mass of sensation.
His lips touched her ear. “You feel clean yet?”
She fisted her hands and shook her head. She never wanted this slippery, sensual exploration to end. “No,” she whispered. “I think you missed a spot.”
His fingers twitched, and that was the only sign her words had affected him. His questing hands slid lower, and she gasped as one wedged between her tightly clenched thighs, his fingers delving into the folds of her sex. She shot upright and grabbed his shoulders.