“Because it was similar to the situation where you got shot?” She’d certainly thought of that as she’d been crouched in the floorboard of his police cruiser, not knowing what was going on.
“No.” He pulled back and lifted a hand to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb across the arch of her cheek. “Because for the first time in a long time, I have something to lose.”
Her breath caught and her heart gave a painful squeeze because—oh—she understood. She felt the same about him, and she wanted—needed—to show him.
“Ethan.” She rose to her toes, brushing her mouth to his, then holding there at the edge of temptation. “Stay. Don’t go home tonight.”
Miranda waited for him to gently set her away, make his excuses. It was beyond late, and they’d both been through a lot tonight. Instead, he reached for the knob himself and led her inside.
Anticipation washed away the bone-numbing exhaustion, as Ethan shut the door. A single lamp was on in the living room beyond the foyer. It cast his face in shadow, but still she could see the hunger as he looked at her.
“I won’t ask if you’re sure.”
“Good.” Taking a firmer grip on his hand, she led the way upstairs, not bothering with lights. In her bedroom, she bypassed the bed and went straight into the big master bath with the glassed-in shower and dual shower heads that had sold her on the house. She was still wearing the same blood-stained clothes she’d had on earlier. Releasing his hand, she opened the shower door and switched on the water to scalding.
Ethan removed his duty belt, watching her as she moved around the room lighting candles.
Feeling a little self-conscious at the weight of his stare, Miranda snuffed the match. “I love this bathroom. It’s why I bought the house. A candlelit steam or a bath with a glass of wine is one of my favorite ways to unwind at the end of a long day of being on my feet.”
“Nothing wrong with a little atmosphere.” He set the belt aside and started on his shirt. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
“I haven’t been shy about the fact that I want you.” When her fingers went to the buttons of her own shirt, his eyes followed the brisk flick. This wasn’t a seductive striptease, but the heat in his gaze said it was having the same effect.
Ethan shrugged out of the shirt and ripped open the Velcro on the kevlar vest beneath. The sound of it echoed against the tile. “I like that you’re a straight shooter.” He slipped off the vest, and it was Miranda’s turn to watch with avid fascination as he stripped the undershirt up and over his head. The flat plane of his abs was every bit as toned and hard as she’d expected. Her mouth watered at the sight. She wanted to learn every dip and slope, with her fingers, with her tongue.
“Getting behind, Legs.” He curved that slow, molasses smile he seemed to reserve just for her, and Miranda realized she’d stopped moving, her hands still on the placard of the shirt.
“Can’t have that.” She stripped it off, enjoying the way his eyes followed her.
“Very nice. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a pink lace kind of woman.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
He prowled over in bare feet, hooking a hand around her nape. “I look forward to discovering all of them.”
Miranda shivered, imagining all the different ways he could explore her. What kind of lover would he be? Slow and thorough? Torturous? Demanding? Maybe a little dominant? The expression on his face promised all that and more, and it thrilled her. He thrilled her, just by looking.
Steam was beginning to fill the room, casting everything in a soft haze with the flickering candlelight. When he drew her against him, she didn’t resist, lifting her mouth to his and letting her hands explore as she’d dreamed. Her fingers traced over a scar high up on one shoulder. She knew from the puckered feel of the tissue it was where he’d been shot in the Army. It wouldn’t have been a pleasant wound, but it wasn’t life threatening. No, that scar was lower, over his ribs. That shot would almost certainly have collapsed a lung and come perilously close to hitting his spine. Her brain automatically imagined the trajectory, the damage, as her fingers traced over it. So close. So close to losing him before they’d even met.
“You’re thinking too hard.” Ethan’s fingers curved around her nape, holding her in place so he could thoroughly seduce her mouth, even as his other broad palm slid up the bare skin of her torso to cup her breast.
Miranda gave a purr of approval and reached for the zipper of his pants. She wanted skin. Wanted to feel what she did to him. To feel the proof that he was very much alive.
He’d dispensed with her bra by the time she shoved his pants and boxer briefs down his hips, and his hands closed over her breasts as hers wrapped around his cock. They both groaned, pressing into each other. He was heavy in her palm, so thick her long, surgeon’s fingers didn’t quite meet. She ran a slow thumb around the crown. Ethan cursed, abandoning her breasts and making quick work of her pants, stepping out of his own. Then he was hauling her into the shower. He backed her up against the tile, running his hands up her arms and lifting them over her head, as he ravaged her mouth. Her nipples tightened as his chest rubbed against hers, and her legs went loose, with a long, liquid pull low in her belly. The spray battered them both, sluicing over every inch, but Miranda barely noticed the heat of the water. All she could focus on was the feel of his hard, hot body pressed against hers. Close, but not close enough.
“Ethan.”
He stopped kissing her—a pity—and watched her with hooded eyes. “Don’t move until I say move.”
It was the same order he’d given her earlier tonight, and Miranda didn’t know what to do with it in this context. She wasn’t a submissive woman, but she found she liked the thrum of command in his tone. Her lips curved. “Bossy.”
“You’ll like it.”
The promise prompted another of those long, liquid pulls between her thighs. “Mmm. Okay, I’ll cooperate. But just so you know, it’s my turn to torture you next.”
Ethan’s mouth quirked. “We’ll see.”
Oh damn, now that was a challenge.
But Miranda remained still, her arms still above her head as he released her and reached for the soap. He worked up a thick lather and started at her hands, soaping and stroking every inch, making his way down her arms, across her shoulders and to her breasts. The combination of the slickness and the calluses of his fingers moving over her flesh, rolling her nipples, had her dropping her head back and moaning. The man took his time, his eyes unerringly focused on her, and she realized he was learning her reactions. When something made her breath catch, he did it again, refining and adapting the touch until she was gasping. By the time he slid one hand down to cover the curls at the apex of her thighs, her arms and legs were trembling.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
She pressed her hips into his hand, wanting him to part her, to touch her, needing him inside her to fill the ache he’d built. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“For the love of all that is holy, if you don’t touch me right now, I’m going to beat you over the head with a shampoo bottle.”
On a huffing laugh, he slid his fingers between her folds, over her clit.