When he turned, his eyes took in every inch of her body. “You’re all dirty.” His words came out on a groan, like he was trying to stifle his need for her.
He stalked toward her and placed his hand on her cheek.
She looked up deep into his eyes. He always had an edge of fear, of hesitation in his eyes when he looked at her. And she was happy for that, because she feared the moment he let down his guard completely, she might never be able to let him go.
“Let me take care of you.”
She nodded. Smiled. He turned her to face the mirror above the sink.
Tenderness. Vulnerability.
Two words not in her vocabulary when it came to Cole Murphy. But right now, he was a completely different person than he’d ever been with her before.
He lifted the sundress off her body, which had been a bitch to squeeze back into when it was soaking wet. It fell with a wet thud to the floor. Then he pulled down the bottoms of the bikini and let them settle around her ankles.
He wanted to take care of her. To please her. She could just sit back and let him do it. She’d never allowed a man to do that before. She was always so concerned with earning things on her own that she never asked for help. Never allowed anyone to give her anything, even if it was something she craved, like intimacy.
Next, he reached up to loosen the string at her back. The bikini top fell away, leaving her breasts partially exposed. His gentle hands moved up her rib cage, his fingers fluttering over her tattoo. He traced up to her shoulders, the sand scratchy under his touch. When he reached her neck, he swept away her hair and loosened the knot at her nape. He didn’t push it off. He let the top slide down her body at its own pace.
He looked up and their eyes met in the mirror. “I want to be gentle with you,” he whispered.
She gasped when he dipped his head and his nose grazed the skin at her shoulder. Then her neck. Then the spot behind her ear. She was too sandy for his lips to make contact, but she craved the feel of them on her.
“But I don’t think I can.”
She turned in his arms, running her hands through the wet strands of his hair. “Just make me feel good. However you want.”
If he kept this up, she’d never be able to go back to the way things were between them. Which scared the hell out of her. Not going back meant risking a career she’d worked hard to build on her own merit. If the people around her, especially her family, suspected her success was based on favors and not hard-earned expertise, not only would she have failed at earning their respect, but it would limit her authority and effectiveness in her day-to-day work.
She would not have her many accomplishments with the Madewood family tainted with rumors of their affair.
She’d spent the last three years locking away her heart, trying her best to keep it from slipping into the equation of their relationship. But if he kept this up, if he continued to give her everything she’d thought he wasn’t capable of, she was going to have a hard time walking away from him.
He guided her to the shower. The hot water had steamed up the glass walls. She rested her hand on his shoulder when she stepped over the sill and under the warm spray. It felt good to rinse away the sand, but so did the warm glow that enveloped her just being near him.
Her head fell back, and she let the spray wash over her. He stepped in beside her, still wearing his board shorts. But she didn’t need them gone to know what beauty hid beneath them—the long, thick pleasure that awaited her. All she had to do was reach out and grab it.
But she didn’t. He seemed to have another agenda. So, she’d let him carry it out.
His big hands found her hips and grasped them with the strength of a desperate man. They brushed over her skin, over her arms and stomach, her back and shoulders. He bent and wiped away the sand on the backs of her thighs and between her legs. Her breath hitched with every swipe of his hand. But with the first touch to her folds, she tightened, her stomach clenching with desire. Her legs clamped together, preventing his hand from moving on.
She watched him through the droplets of water that had accumulated on her eyelashes. A tiny smile curved his lips. But he didn’t give in to her. He pulled his hand out and continued on, ensuring her skin was free of every grain of sand.
He squeezed shampoo into his palm and rubbed his hands together, then lathered her hair, letting the white foam cover her head. He used his fingertips to massage her scalp from her hairline to the nape of her neck. She let out a tiny moan when he pushed his soapy thumbs against either side of her spine.
“Mmm. Maybe instead of a chef you should have been a hair stylist.”
His voice rumbled in her ear. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever contemplate a career change.”
When he was satisfied every strand had been scrubbed, he rinsed it clean, cradling her head under the steady spray.
Next, he reached for the bar of soap but stopped abruptly, changing course to retrieve her bottle of body wash. He examined it.
“You can use the loofah.” She pointed to where the pink poof hung on the faucet.
“I was wondering what that thing was for.”
She chuckled.