Page 142 of Her Reluctant Hero
She made a twirling motion with her finger. “Okay. Let’s go.”
His eyebrows climbed higher, just for a second, as if he hadn’t expected her to cave so easily, then he turned and led the way into the bathroom.
The teeny tiny bathroom.
He leaned over the tub to start the water running while she tried to figure out what to do with her hands, what to look at besides the play of muscles across his back. He straightened, turned away from her and shucked off his shorts.
“Are you kidding me?” He was already sporting an erection. “Can’t you control that thing?”
With a flex of muscles he bobbed it at her before stepping into the tub, his injured left arm on the edge of the tub near her. “It remembers you.”
She snorted. “It’s just going to have to savor those memories. Let me get something to rinse your hair.” She ducked out of the room, spotted the ice bucket on the dresser and, for a moment, considered actually filling it with ice before dumping it over Adrian’s smug head. How could she blame his body’s obvious reaction when her own body hummed from the sight of his? She sucked in a breath, like before a dive, and turned into the bathroom.
Adrian sat in the tub, long legs drawn up, looking ridiculous and so male all at once.
All that breath whooshed out of her lungs and she twisted around to the sink to find the shampoo.
“Looking for this?”
Lips quirked with enjoyment at her discomfort, he wiggled a small plastic bottle. Smirking herself, she turned the sink on full blast, stuck the bucket under the faucet, then dumped the cold water over his head.
He sputtered and wiped a hand over his eyes. She set the bucket down, snatched the shampoo from his slick fingers and squeezed the contents into her palm. Already anticipating how his short hair would feel against her skin, she rubbed her hands together.
“Lean your head back so you don’t get soap in your eyes.”
Yes, she was stalling. But when he eased back, well, she wasn’t thinking about how his hair would feel against her skin anymore. She dragged her eyes away from his still-impressive erection and met his gaze that told her, damn it, he knew everything going through her head.
“Say one word and I’ll leave you in here.”
He pressed his lips together in an exaggerated gesture of silence, so she bent over and scrubbed her hands over his hair, blocking out the sensation of the short bristles against her skin, the hum of pleasure in his throat. Her gaze drifted to his forehead, the lines there even in rest, his lashes resting on sun-kissed cheeks, a gentle smile curving his soft lips.
“Feels nice,” he murmured as she lathered his hair.
She released him, considered rinsing her hands in the water of the tub, but there was no place in the tub where he wasn’t. She reached over to turn on the faucet and rinsed her hands before she refilled the bucket.
“Warm this time, please,” he said, without moving, his gaze intent on her when she moved to kneel by his head. And damn it, she recognized that look, used to live for that look.
“What? It’s warm.” Knowing she had to get out of here and fast, before she did something stupid, she snatched a washcloth from the edge of the tub, tossed it over his eyes and poured the water from the bucket over his head, working the lather until it was gone. Drawing away, she jumped to her feet. “Okay, you’re good.”
Adrian whipped the wet cloth off his face and sat up, sloshing water onto the floor. “Mal, wait. I can’t reach my back.”
Oh, for— But she hesitated in the doorway, eyeing him to see if he was serious. As if to demonstrate, he flipped the washcloth over his shoulder and slapped it against his broad back.
With a grumble of frustration, she stomped over and grabbed the cloth. She spread it over her hand and thrust it at him. “Soap.”
He fumbled the wrapped soap out of the soap dish and held it up to her helplessly. Her gaze on his, she took the packet, lifted it to her mouth and tore it open with her teeth.
“Lean forward.”
He did, and once again she hesitated. All that sun-browned skin covering an expanse of muscular back, shoulders she’d ridden upon in playfulness, had clutched in passion, had clung to in sorrow. She wasn’t touching him, though. The cloth was touching him. The heat of him seeped through, the strength of him, the masculinity. She stroked the cloth in broad sweeps, from one shoulder to the other, down the indentation of his spine, stopping just at the small of his back before gliding up his right side, under his right arm. He wouldn’t be able to reach that either, so she shifted around to reach across his chest.
And caught her breath to see the way he looked at her. All playfulness was gone now. His eyes had darkened, his lips parted, his breath came hot against her cheek.
“Mallory.”
Her gaze was riveted on his mouth for one terrible moment of longing before reason returned. Time to go. Now, or it would be too late. She dropped the cloth into the water and bolted.
A shower of her own didn’t clear her head. When another knock came at her door, more than an hour later, she still hadn’t gathered her wits. She should have known better than to think she could handle being alone with Adrian. And what devil had compelled her to put herself in a room with naked Adrian?
