His smile remained on his mouth but his eyes went wary. ‘Maybe a little.’
‘How much?’ She walked towards him. ‘How much do you trust me?’
The wary look spread. He knew she wasn’t joking around. ‘Why, what do you want to do?’
‘Not me, Rhys. You.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
It was so easy, yet he seemed to find it so hard. ‘Talk.’
He looked nonplussed. ‘What about?’
‘How you’re feeling.’
‘Oh, my God.’ He looked at her as if she’d grown two heads.
She laughed. ‘It’s not that bad. How about this? I touch you, and you tell me how it feels.’
‘Touch?’ His brows were up, she could tell he could cope with the touch bit. But he didn’t know where she planned to lay her hands yet. ‘OK.’
‘Great. Let’s start simple.’ She cocked her head on the side and studied him. ‘Where to begin…How about if I touch you here? How does that feel?’ She ran her fingertips along the breadth of his shoulders.
‘Not bad.’
‘What about here?’ She slid them down to his nipples, circled around them.
‘Getting better.’
She went a little lower, crossing abs that went taut at her touch.
‘Mmm hmm.’
‘Words, Rhys, use your words.’
He grunted. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’
She felt a touch of guilty amusement at his expression—half of him wanting her, half of him wanting her to shut up. She paused the downward trajectory of her fingertips and looked up to him, waiting.
The wanting half of him won. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
She stayed silent.
He sighed. ‘Would it make this simpler if I told you that anywhere you touch me feels good?’
‘Well, now, that was a sweet thing to say.’
She squeezed some shower gel onto her hands, rubbed them together in circles to lather it up into a silky, bubbly mass. She skipped over the middle of him entirely. Dropped to her knees. She heard him suck in a quick breath.
She smiled up at him as she knelt before him.
‘OK, I’m quite liking this.’ He looked back down at her, cheeky grin on the full lips.
Yes, but he didn’t know what she had planned. She spread her soapy hands and placed them on the front of his thighs, ran them down over his knees. Switched both hands to one leg and wrapped around his calf, sliding down with sensual slowness and back up.
He’d gone quiet again. She’d known he would. She gave the other leg the same treatment, loving the spray of the water from the multiple shower jets warming her. This was way better than standing in some freezing fountain.
With nervous fingers she went back up his thigh with both hands. Slipped to the side and gently touched his scar. With light fingers she went back over it.
She sensed the change instantly. His tension was palpable, his body rigid. Silence. Even his breathing held in check. She brushed her lips against the puckered skin. Swept across it with a soft, open mouth.
He jerked away. ‘Don’t, Sienna.’
She ran soothing hands down his legs. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘No.’ Brief.
She touched the scar again. His fists curled at his sides.
She knew he wanted her. But she sensed his anger as well. As sure as steam rose, it was rising, nearing the surface. He had such a seemingly impregnable veneer—quietly charming. But he used it to keep everyone at bay, granting no opening to his true emotion. She wanted to shatter it. Pierce through the layer to the passion and pain she knew simmered deep, deep below. So she traced over the scarred skin once more, first with a quick finger, then with lips, then with the tip of her tongue.
She heard him suck in a breath, struggle to rein in his temper.
‘Sienna—’
She couldn’t ignore the warning. She stood, laid a tender palm on his chest. Felt the strong, regular beat of his heart beneath. ‘Does it hurt here, Rhys?’
Tension hung in the room. His face was like a mask. She let her fingers brush the scar again.
He jerked. ‘Back off.’
She stepped after him. ‘No.’
His arms crossed his chest. He took another step away. She walked forward another pace, and another half. Until his back was against the bathroom wall.
‘Tell me.’
He stared down, eyes heavy-lidded. Almost shut. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’
She put her hands on his chest. ‘Talk to me. Your challenge this time, Rhys. Talk to me.’
‘Damn it, don’t you know when to leave it alone?’
He moved fast. Spinning around, spinning her around so it was her turn to be pinned against the wall. His body slammed up hard against hers. The tiles were cold on her back. His thighs were hot between her own.
‘I don’t. Want. To talk.’
‘Fine!’ she yelled. Right in his face. ‘Don’t. Don’t say a damn thing. Keep your secrets. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t let anyone get anywhere near you!’
‘Near me? How near me do you want to get?’ His hands went to her hips, pulling her hard against his. ‘This near?’ He jerked her closer so his erection dug hard against her lower belly. ‘This?’
She rose on tiptoe, wrapped one leg around his waist so he couldn’t step away. ‘Closer.’
He kissed her then, hard and angry. She was angry too but it was whisked away when she sensed the hurt he was trying to hide. So she opened for him, and he took. Boy, did he take. The ferocity of his passion literally made her weak. It was as if the stronger he was, the softer she became. Her legs were no longer able to support her—gut instinct demanded she lie down and welcome. They slid to the floor, swiftly he moved, entering with a hard thrust and a harsh growl. Any pretence at foreplay was forgotten. She pulled him even closer. Pushed him further.
The water sprayed down on them and as she gazed up at him it was like being under that fountain of her dreams. He could make her feel so wonderful, could make her feel as if she wanted to share everything with him. Most of all she wanted him to share with her. But this was only his body. She understood what he was seeking. The relief, the release, the joy that would obliterate the angst—momentarily. He wanted this to make him feel better. Why couldn’t he understand that he’d feel so much more if he opened up completely?
He shuddered, rigid, his groan wrenched out from deep within. She wrapped her arms and legs tight around him. Kissed the side of his face over and over. He’d buried it deep into her neck. She turned into him, wanting to kiss his beautiful mouth. But he kept it locked in the ridge above her collar-bone. So she kissed the skin she did have access to—his neck, his jaw, his cheek. She paused—sure she’d tasted salt. Sweat or tears? Maybe both.
‘Rhys?’
Silence. For long moments she felt his heart thunder against hers, felt his ragged breathing. Finally he pulled out, pushed away. Stood. Said nothing. Took a towel and left.
She lay where she was, on the floor, the streaming water keeping her warm, washing away the taste of her own tears.