"If you don't get up and undressed, I'll throw you in, clothes and all."
"If I go in, you're going in, buddy."
His sudden grin was almost boyish, and he looked so damn sexy she just wanted to grab him and kiss him and make love to him. How could he treat her with such warmth and tenderness and expect to keep her at arm's length?
She couldn't. Wouldn't. Not this time.
"Up, woman. You need to get clean, and you need to get warm. I will not take no for an answer." She smiled slightly. Neither would she. She kicked off her shoes then stopped. “Sorry. Too much effort involved."
"You're going to make me pick you up, aren't you?"
"Uh huh.” She closed her eyes and waited.
His hands slipped under her, trailing heat through her body. He lifted her, holding her close, his grip gentle and his body warm against hers.
"Now, this I can handle.” Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his neck and lightly kissed his chin.
“I'll warm up in no time if you just keep your arms around me like this."
"But it won't wash the dirt from your skin,” he said dryly as he carried her into the bathroom and stopped beside the hot tub. “And I may have a vampire's strength, but even my arms would protest after the first hour or so of holding you."
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a dead weight?" He glanced down at her, dark eyes suddenly intense. “Never that,” he said softly. Then the boyish grin hit her again, warming her senses to overload. “In you go."
"Don't,” she yelped, only to have the words snatched away as she went under the water. She came up spluttering. The bubbling water was frothy and hot. The mild perfume, a mix of jasmine and rose, caught her nose and made her sneeze. Foam flew, covering her face and hair. Michael watched, a silly grin on his face.
"Think it's funny, do you?” she muttered, and hit him with kinetic energy. A second later, he was spluttering in the hot tub beside her. “Told you,” she continued, voice all innocence. “I go in, you go in."
"Witch.” He grabbed her shirt and tugged her toward him. “Whatever am I going to do with you?" She kissed his wet lips. “Washing me would be a good start." He raised an eyebrow. “Too weak, are we?"
"No.” She smiled sweetly. “I just want your hands on me."
"Well,” he said, sounding as put out as all hell—an image somewhat destroyed by the amused anticipation in his eyes, “for the sake of sleeping in clean sheets, I guess I shall have to help." He undid her shirt and slid it from her shoulders, his hands skimming her skin and caressing heat through her body. Her jeans and undergarments quickly followed and were tossed wetly on the tiles beside her shirt.
"Hair first.” He grabbed the shampoo, then tucked her between his legs and began washing her hair. She closed her eyes and simply enjoyed.
"Rinse time.” He reached back, grabbing the flexible hand shower, stretching it to capacity as he turned on the taps. He rinsed her hair clean, then turned off the water and grabbed the conditioner. He massaged it through her scalp, sending ripples of pleasure reverberating down to her toes.
"You're awfully good at this,” she murmured. “Don't tell me—you were a hairdresser at one time, too."
"Three hundred years is a long time to stay in one job, you know. And people tend to get a little suspicious when you show no sign of aging."
"A problem,” she agreed. She leaned against his chest, listening to the thunder of his heart.
"I can't massage the back of your head like that."
She smiled. “I don't really care. I'm comfortable."
"Oh really?” He cupped his hands around her breasts, then gently tugged at her nipples, teasing them to full bloom. A shudder ran through her, and deep inside the ache began. “How comfortable is that?"
"Probably as comfortable as you are in those wet jeans.” She shifted position and closed her eyes. Energy shimmered, and his clothes joined hers on the floor. She moved back between his legs. Michael grabbed the bar of soap and began washing her arms and chest. He took his time, working his way down her stomach, every now and again reaching back up to cup her breasts and tease her nipples. Eventually, he slipped his hand between her legs, stroking her gently at first, then faster when the tremors began. Her hips surged, thrusting against his hand for several seconds before she went lax and still against him. But ripples of pleasure ran heat through the link, and her sigh was a sound that reverberated though his soul.
"I hope you didn't treat all your customers this well,” she murmured.
"Baths weren't really big enough to share with any comfort way back then,” he said, reaching for the soap again. “And they were generally only taken on a weekly basis anyway." She sighed. “This is so much more civilized."
Amusement mixed with love ran through the link, shimmering around him, through him. He knew he should leave the spa, knew that he was risking his resolve to keep her out of his life—but right then, he didn't care. He needed her—emotionally as much as physically—and just this once, he was giving in to that need.
He began washing her again. The last time they'd made love it had been too quick, too rushed—too full of uncertainty and desperation. This time, while they still had time left to them, he would pleasure her more fully.