His hazel eyes never left me, locked with mine like a guided missile. He appeared exactly as I’d imagined him in my story, that intense gaze of his making my insides simmer with awareness. The strong lines of his face, the aristocratic high cheekbones and chiseled, workingman’s jaw, were features I could picture perfectly when I closed my eyes or when I wrote about him. I’d spent a lot of time staring. Memorizing.
Enjoying.
“You’re back,” I observed, lightly trailing my fingertips over the soft, breaking bubbles at the surface. “I hope you don’t mind me making myself at home.”
My voice sounded awkward, as if it belonged to someone else. My heart beat wildly. Dressed in a light blue shirt with a gray-and-yellow tie he’d loosened enough that a T-shirt showed beneath, he looked good enough to eat. He stood at the edge of the tub, his breath coming hard as he studied me.
“Let me put it this way.” His voice was low. His jaw clenched with tension. “If I was the one writing the book, I don’t think I could have thought up a scene this good.”
* * *
DAMIEN KNEW HE SHOULDN’T have walked down those steps to the lower level. He’d recognized as much the second the scent of chlorine hit his nose, understanding damn well that Miranda must have made use of the spa.
Now his blood ran hot in his veins at the sight of her glistening bare shoulders above the churning water. Locks of her short, newly colored hair clung in wet waves to her neck, even though she had most of it caught in a clip. A delicate silver chain around her neck reflected the light as she moved.
She had to be naked.
The discarded robe off to one side said as much as that bare shoulder. He couldn’t look anywhere else, seized with the desire to lick a droplet of water from her skin where it rolled down her arm.
“Actually, I came down here just for that reason—so it would be a good scene.” She pointed toward her laptop, an open document visible on the screen.
And? Had she written it yet? He hated to rush her. Would not rush her, damn it. But there she was. Naked. In his hot tub.
He forced himself to sit on the edge of the lacquered bricks surrounding the spa. Close, but not too close. He tried not to stare down into the water, where the tops of her breasts were occasionally visible. Okay, maybe he didn’t try that hard.
“How is it turning out so far?” With any luck, her heroine had already overcome her doubts and ripped off the hero’s clothes.
Tension threaded through his muscles. Tightened every inch of him.
“Um...” Color rose in her cheeks. “I think there’s an interesting phenomenon at work.”
A multi-orgasmic phenomenon, he hoped. Or an insatiable sexual craving that he’d have to work all night to satisfy. He was very ready to provide whatever she needed.
“How so?” He ground the question out between clenched teeth, glancing toward the laptop. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to read what she wrote without... Hell. He was already so wound up he could barely see straight.
“I was—” her gaze darted to his “—highly inspired. But I ended up... That is, my heroine wound up with a self-gratification scene.”
He wanted to think his way through what that meant. For Miranda. For them. But his brain stalled on an image of her touching herself, and remained right there.
Any attempt to reassure her—to say anything at all—ended in a dry rasp from his throat. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort to stay still. Not reach for her.
“Crazy, right?” She gave a small shrug that lifted her left breast perilously close to the surface of the water. “But I think—subconsciously—I don’t want my heroine to be with you before I am.”
Silence hung in the room for long moments after that announcement. He tried to silence the buzz in his head so he could make sense of her words. But he didn’t trust his first instinct, which told him she’d just flashed him the go-ahead sign.
“I’ve had a tough time staying focused, with you sitting so close and so naked.” He felt his right temple start to throb. “Which means I’m going to ask that you...” He scraped a hand over his face, hoping that closing his eyes for a second would erase the image of her from the backs of his eyelids. “I need you to be very, very clear about what you want.”
“Right.” She nodded, her brow furrowed. “I’m not going to be able to write my way through this scene, and I don’t want to decide what happens next.” Her cheeks flushed darker and her lips trembled a little bit. “I just want you to touch me.”
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