Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she recalled the focused attention Cal had paid to her breasts and nipples all through the night.
Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink—and slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the shriek.
She looked like the creature from the black lagoon.
Not only did she have whisker burn on her cheeks too, she had the worst bed hair in the history of the world ever and the smidgen of make-up she still had on was smeared under her eyes like a bruise.
Make that the creature from tart central.
Grabbing a selection of toiletries neatly arranged in a wicker basket on the sink unit, she shot over to the shower.
Damage limitation was the order of the day. She’d have to repair what she could, then get the heck out of here before her Scottish Warlord woke up and made her humiliation complete.
Mornings had never been her strong suit, and she wasn’t about to risk the ignominy of the morning after with Callum. Not only did she look a fright, she hardly knew the man. And what she did know was making her very uneasy now the haze of lust had cleared.
She still didn’t quite know what had got into her last night. Apart from Cal’s impressive erection.
No man had ever seduced her before with such ease or efficiency. And no man had ever made her see stars. Forget stars, she’d seen a whole constellation. And then been sent soaring through the Milky Way.
While she’d been in his bed, she hadn’t been able to put the whole sequence of events into any kind of perspective. But now, in the cold light of day, she could see that despite all her best-laid plans she’d barely put up a token protest last night.
But far worse than her complete lack of restraint was the way the balance of power had played out.
Right from the moment Cal had demanded that she go to dinner with him he’d been in charge. And while the end result had been mind-blowingly erotic, his ability to control her with such apparent ease bothered her. A lot.
She had a passionate, provocative nature, which was something she’d inherited from her mother. She knew that. But she’d always prided herself on never allowing it to get the better of her. The way she had bent so easily to Callum’s will yesterday evening—and all through the night—felt like a betrayal of that principle, however small.
She flinched as she switched on the shower control and cool water hit her raw skin.
Now she knew she was uniquely susceptible to Callum Westmore. To the point where she could become addicted to him. It would probably be wise to steer clear of him. Once had definitely been enough.
She frowned. Fine, make that five times had definitely been enough. Or was it six?
She grabbed the shampoo and poured a large dose onto her hair as the steamy water began to soothe tired muscles. She massaged the expensive lotion into her scalp and ignored the liquid pull in her abdomen from the woodsy scent she recognised as his.
The number of times they’d done it was
completely irrelevant. What mattered was that she had now alerted herself to the danger. Callum Westmore had discovered her weak spot. And if she was going to stop him from exploiting it, it would probably be wise to stop him from getting near the rest of her as well.
Ten minutes later, drenched and still a little shaky, but fortified by the plan she’d formulated, Ruby stepped out of the shower cubicle and fumbled for her robe.
‘You should have woken me. I would have scrubbed your back.’
This time she didn’t manage to muffle the shriek, the sound echoing against the stone tiles as she clasped the robe to her chest.
‘What are you doing in here?’ She shoved her arms into the garment and belted it to cover her nakedness, disturbingly aroused by the sight of him leaning nonchalantly against the units watching her.
With his long legs clad in a pair of sweat pants that hung low on narrow hips, his chest gloriously bare, his short hair sticking up in careless spikes, and a smile on his lips, he looked rumpled and buff and impossibly sexy. Resentment flared at the inevitable tug between her legs.
Without a spot of make-up on, her cheeks as shiny as beacons, the shapeless robe and her hair falling in a wet tangle down her back, she, on the other hand, probably looked about as enticing as a damp squid. Not that she wanted to entice him, mind you. It would only be counterproductive given her decision not to sleep with him again. But it was the principle of the thing. He had her at a disadvantage, and she didn’t appreciate it.
‘Why are you blushing?’ he asked, amused. His eyes roamed over her. ‘You didn’t strike me as the shy type last night.’
‘I’m not,’ she said, although for the first time in her life she did feel a little shy. Which only annoyed her more. ‘But I prefer a little privacy when I have a shower.’
‘That’s a shame.’ He closed the distance between them in two long strides, then settled his hand on her neck. The heat sizzled straight down to her toes and made her tense. ‘Because my back-scrubbing skills are legendary.’
You don’t say.