He hesitated over the word sleep long enough to make her anticipate “make love to you.”
Katie gulped and led Jorlan to the bathroom, where she showed him how to work the knobs. “Place a small dollop of shampoo into your hands and work it through your hair. There will be suds. If you get any in your eyes…” Her voice tapered off as Jorlan gripped the hem of his T-shirt, pulled the material over his head, and let the garment whoosh to the floor. “So hot.”
Realizing she’d called him hot, she rushed to add, “I mean your eyes will burn so hot!”
She’d seen his chest before. Mmm, mmm, mmm, had she seen it. Yet, those previous glimpses hardly mattered. Each time she saw his sun-kissed skin, she had the same reaction. Fiery heat that erupted into flames and torched her inhibitions to ash.
“I would willingly place these suds in my eyes,” he said, his voice as tantalizing as warm honey, “if I knew you would kiss away the pain.”
“And I will forcefully put suds in your eyes if you keep flirting.”
Another chuckle, this one an internal caress. “I might allow you to put suds in my eyes, if you pressed your body against mine while you did it.”
She ignored the delicious flutters in her stomach, as well as his teasing comment. “When you’re finished, turn the knobs to shut off the water. Also, do not leave this bathroom without re-dressing.” With all the basics covered, she raced to the door before he removed his sweats.
Behind her, he said, “You cannot leave, witch.” All stealth and training, he moved in front of her, halting her just before escape.
She stopped. Her back went ramrod straight and her shoulders squared. “Excuse me?”
“In Imperia, it is customary for two people to kiss before they part.” His long, spiky lashes swept down in a slow, alluring appraisal of her curves, and she lost her train of thought. “Anything less is rude.”
“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t in Imperia.”
Frustration pulsed from him, and she almost—almost!—laughed. The poor guy had no idea how to deal with a non-Imperian female—Imperial? Imperialish?—who did not seek his approval in any way, shape or form.
“Perhaps you would like the privilege of washing my back, then?” he asked.
Privilege? “Let’s save that particular privilege for my birthday. A girl’s gotta have something to look forward to, amiright?” Katie pushed past him and shut the door firmly behind her.
Alone in the hall, she locked her knees to prevent a fall. That man and his sex appeal…lethal to her peace of mind. And body.
The girl who’d (once) put no stake in physical appearance now hungered for a handsome face and muscular physique. And yeah, okay, she liked his personality, too, when he wasn’t issuing orders or mansplaining about womanly weaknesses, of course.
He was smart, no doubt about it, but also adorably clueless about modern society. He was curious about the world around him, everything new and exciting. And he was strong. Brave. After all, the man had faced a cell phone without flinching.
Katie pressed a hand against her mouth to silence a giggle. Deciding to stay put, just in case he needed her, she leaned against the wall and tried not to imagine all that glorious golden skin covered with glistening soap bubbles. She failed.
By the time he emerged half an hour later, enveloped by a vanilla-scented cloud of steam, she trembled with arousal.
He rubbed a towel through his wet hair. He’d donned the sweatpants, but not the shirt, his eight-pack on spectacular display. He is one hundred percent pure Imperian beef. Droplets of water trickled down his rippled chest, pooling in his navel. The moisture in her mouth dried. I want to lick him up.
When had she become such a sexual creature?
As soon as he spotted her, he smiled. “Couldn’t stay away?”
“Didn’t want you to drown.”
The smile ebbed. “I would like more peanut butter. Please,” he added as an afterthought.
Make a man a sandwich, and you satisfied his hunger. Teach a man to make his own sandwich, and you saved him from a beating for getting on your nerves.
“Come on.”
On the way to the kitchen, Katie cooled her desires, doing subtle deep-breathing exercises. She gathered the necessary items, then put the sandwich together, explaining every step. From twisting off a lid to cross contamination by using the same utensil for both the peanut butter and the jelly.
“Are all Earth meals prepared this way?” he asked.
“Let me guess. You have an entire kitchen staff, and they work hours every day?”
“Aye. Exactly.”
Maybe I should move in with him. “This is what I consider an on-the-go meal. Easy and fast to prepare, filling, and somewhat nutritious.”
She hadn’t cooked an actual meal since she’d left home at the age of eighteen. A small rebellion, she supposed, for all the years she had slaved over breakfast, lunch and dinner for the men of the house.
After passing the finished sandwich to him, she poured a glass of milk for him and said, “Now you make a sandwich.”
First, he ate the one she’d prepared, somehow turning the simple act of chewing into an aphrodisiac. His strong jaw moved quickly. Potent and intense.
When would she find something unappealing about him? Seriously, she preferred First Date Syndrome to Obsession Disease.
Jorlan fixed three more sandwiches.
“Tell me more about your world,” she said as they sat at the counter.
He spoke in between bites, his eyes aglow. “For our homes, colorful stones are used, and most chambers are without doors.”
“Even bedrooms?”
“Even bedrooms,” he confirmed.
“But why? Anyone can walk in at any time, even if the occupants are midsexual marathon.”
“Doors are considered a sign of mistrust. For intimate moments, occupants use magic to block any and all entrances.”
“Well, consider me mistrustful, because I’m keeping my doors.”
“I suddenly see their appeal.” He finished off the food and drained the milk, then leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grunt. “Thank you, Katie. For everything.”
“My pleasure. Jorlan.” Mmm. Pleasure. Give me—nothing. “All right. Let’s get you tucked into bed. Alone.”
“Your continued rejection humbles me.” The wry comment was delivered with an equally wry grin.
“You know what? I’m strangely okay with that,” she told him after blowing him a kiss.
In the hall, sweet vanilla still scented the air, blending with his innate sandalwood fragrance. Her head fogged. Goose bumps spread over her arms.
“I must admit,” he said, “I did not expect your home to be furnished in such a way. These things do not suit you.”
In that, she agreed. Decorated with a contemporary slant, the interior was too bold for her tastes. Too modern, the walls trimmed with metal. Instead of wood paneling or carpet, mosaic tile covered the floors. Every light fixture boasted some sort of chrome finish. Plus, the furnishings lacked character.
Katie preferred shabby chic antiques and urban farmhouse.
When she’d first bought the house, she’d intended to fix it up and sell it. Her very first project! Then her dad had come over.
Back then, he hadn’t known her career goals. He’d thought she planned to live here, and had barked orders like a drill sergeant, expecting total compliance.