The bathroom mirror was completely misted over when they finally emerged from the shower and toweled dry. Finishing, Trey wrapped the damp towel around his hips tucking in a corner to hold it in place.
His gaze slid to Sloan, watching as she squeezed the excess water from her hair. Her kiss-swollen lips lay softly together, and there was a kind of inner beauty to her face that gave it a new radiance. A possessiveness rushed through him with a potency that shook him.
“Must be nice to have short hair,” she observed idly.
“It has its advantages,” he admitted absently. “This is just about where I came in—here you are, fresh out of the shower, your hair all wet.”
“But this time I’m not even going to try to dry it.” She ran a comb through it, slicking it away from her face. “It will be a lot quicker just to braid it.”
“While you do that, I’ll go round up our clothes.”
The minute he left the bathroom, Sloan felt his absence. But it was eased by the small sounds she heard coming from the outer room. A heady contentment hummed through her, making her feel all tingly and warm.
When Trey returned a few minutes later, fully dressed, to deliver her clothes, Sloan was struck by how natural it seemed, as if it had always been that way. It wasn’t a feeling she examined too closely; experience had taught her to live in the moment. And she was determined to do that.
The restaurant was crowded when they arrived, but Trey managed to find a booth tucked in an out-of-the-way corner. They sat on the same side, without an ounce of space between them. A lot more snuggling and kissing went on than talking. But words seemed unnecessary when there was a much more satisfactory and elemental form of communication to be enjoyed.
It was nearly ten o’clock by the time they finished and headed back to the motel. Nothing was said; it was simply understood that on this night Trey wouldn’t be leaving Sloan at the door.
Trey followed her into the room and paused to shut it behind him, flipping the dead bolt into its locked position. When he turned away from it, Sloan was nowhere in sight. Three steps into the room, he spotted her perched on the edge of the bed by the nightstand, her back to him. He dropped his hat on the low bureau and turned toward her.
Curiosity made him ask, “What are you doing?”
“Setting the alarm.” The task accomplished, she rose from bed, an easy smile curving her lips when she turned to him. “It’s back to work for me tomorrow.”
Some of his earlier resentment flared at the thought of the camera claiming her time the next day instead of him. “Haven’t you taken enough pictures?” He managed to keep the challenge light, but just barely.
Her smile widened. “Don’t you know that’s one of a photographer’s secrets to success? We play the numbers game. You take a couple hundred shots in hopes of getting one that’s really good.”
“That’s the key, is it?” There was a touch of grimness around his mouth, but it faded as she wandered toward him while reaching behind her head to pull free the elastic band securing her braid. The action drew the dress’s tan material across her breasts, outlining their perfectly round shape and drawing his attention to them. “What time are you planning to get up?”
“Six.” She swept the loosened braid onto a shoulder and finger-combed her hair free of its plait.
“Why so early?” Displeasure put a hard edge on his voice, but Sloan didn’t appear to notice it. “Nothing’s going on at that hour. Competition doesn’t resume until the afternoon.”
“I know, but I want to get some early-morning shots when it’s all deserted and it’s only the horses in the pens. I have my fingers crossed that it will be chilly enough to see their breath.” Her attention was turned inward, picturing the ideal shot in her mind. Belatedly she focused on him. “Actually, that was how I planned to spend my morning today, but somebody took me out for a picnic breakfast instead.”
She halted in front of him, her head tipped up to meet his gaze. Her nearness unraveled all the little knots of anger, and his hands moved to settle on the points of her shoulders.
“Do you think that same guy could persuade you to have breakfast with him in the morning?” Trey murmured.
“’Fraid not.” Sloan smiled in easy refusal. “But he is welcome to come along with me in the morning and act as a sort of helper.”
It wasn’t the sort of offer that appealed to Trey, considering he had already tagged behind her earlier in the day, and it wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat.
As a result, he opted for a somewhat dry non-answer. “That’s kind of you.”
“I thought so.”
Idly he fingered the wavy strands of hair that curled over one of her shoulders. “Your hair is still damp.”
“I know. Maybe I should cut it short like yours,” she suggested, strictly in jest.
“Don’t. I like it this way.” Even damp, he could feel the silken fineness of its texture as he brushed it off her shoulder, then left his hand along the side of her neck while his thumb traced its long curve. Desire stirred through him, hot and disturbing. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked in a voice that had grown husky with want.
There was a small, denying shake of her head. “I only know how beautiful I feel when you touch me.” Reaching up, she curved a hand behind his head, applying pressure to draw it down.