Page 37 of Risk It All
I carry my pack with me to the bathroom. It's warm and steamy from his shower. I shut the door, peel my clothes off, and step into a hot shower. My muscles sing as steaming water pelts my body. I let out a long sigh and consider never moving again. I soap up, washing every surface and crevice on my body several times. I wash and rinse my hair three times. Finally, I start to feel normal again.
I turn off the shower and grab two towels from the rack. One, I wrap around my hair and the other around my body. As I step out of the shower, I eye the tub. My body cries out for a long soak, but I ignore it. Finding a second robe hanging on the door, I slip it on, sighing at the feel of the soft, clean fabric on my body.
For a moment, I contemplate whether or not I should put a clean set of clothes on while in the bathroom. Max is wrapped up in a robe and I can do the same. But I know that underneath the robes we're naked, with only a sash to keep us covered. Would that be too much temptation? Do I really care? God this robe feels decadently comfortable. Ultimately, comfort wins out. And, at this point, I don't care if we have a sash failure. In fact, I hope we do.
The desire for him isn't just lust, although there's a good deal of that. It feels like there's something more. Not love, but a connection. And after our ordeal, being with him would be a wonderfully sensual reminder that we're alive. For a long time, hell even now still, I'm skeptical of love. But I do believe in savoring life and living in the moment.
I open the door and step into the cool room. Max is standing by the window, a mini bottle of something potent in his hand.
“It's odd to think that just twelve hours ago we were hiding in the jungle,” he says, his gaze remaining out the window.
“It's like leaving one world and entering another.”
He turns to me, his eyes scanning my body before looking at my face. The way his gaze rakes over me almost feels as if the robe isn't on. I look down just to be sure. When I look up, he's smiling. Not that smug smile like he knows what I'm thinking. It's more like happiness. I wonder if he's feeling like I do; we need to seize the day.
“I found the minibar.” He holds up his bottle. “There's champagne. Want to celebrate?”
“Celebrate what?” I ask as the spark of attraction picks up. I can feel it zapping between us even though he's on the other side of the room.
“Being alive.” His eyes darken seductively. “Being together.”
All of a sudden, the room grows hot, and I want to cast off the robe. “Champagne makes me a little silly.”
“I'd like to see that.” He moves toward the minibar, pulling out a demi-bottle of champagne and finding two plastic cups. He pops the cork, using his mouth to catch the champagne that fizzes out the top. He pours the golden liquid into the cups and carries one to me.
“To my brilliant, beautiful, feisty guide who got me out of Nigeria in one piece.”
I smile and hold up my cup. “To my kind, handsome, arrogant friend, who helped keep me stay calm so we could get out in one piece.”
We clink our cups and sip the bubbly as our gazes hold each other’s. The air grows thick. Need sizzles over my skin. With one look, he has me wanting in a way I've never wanted before. He's like a Svengali, except he isn't trying to manipulate or exert control over me. No, his gaze shows genuine desire, hunger, and it ignites my own.
Keeping his gaze on my eyes, he takes my glass, and sets it down next to his. I know what's coming and anticipation slides down my spine. He frames my face with his hands, pulling me to him. The only time his gaze leaves mine is when it drifts down to my lips. Then it travels back up, looks into my eyes.
But he doesn't take the next step. I'm dying for more so why isn't he kissing me? I realize he's waiting. He wants me, I have no doubt about that. But he isn't going to take, not without my giving him a signal that I want him too. It's one of the things that makes him different from other men.
Not wanting to break the spell by speaking, I lean into him, grasping his robe lapels with my fingers and pulling him to me. Something primal flares in his eyes and then his lips are on mine, devouring my mouth, kissing me until I can't breathe. It's not like the previous kisses. There's nothing hesitant or gentle about it. It's like he's been holding back, and now, finally, he is unleashing pent-up desire.
His hands slide down my back, pulling me against him. Even through the plush fabric of our robes, I feel the steel length of him. I slip my hands under his robe to touch the skin on his chest. It's hot and hard, like the rest of him. He groans then his hands grab my arms, and pushes me back.
I think he's going to do something...pick me up and whisk me to the room...tear the robe from my body...but he just stands there.
Confused, I look up at him. He drops his forehead, resting it against mine, his breath ragged.
“We can't do this,” he finally says. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ever started.”
“Why not?” I don't hide my disappointment.
He lifts his head to look down on me, his expression coy, nearly embarrassed. “When you gave me that list of items I needed to pack, you didn't include condoms.”
I nearly laugh, except I'm too stunned. “Isn't that something men carry with them anyway?”
His expression is chagrinned. “I'm no Boy Scout, even when it comes to carrying protection. It never occurred to me that I'd need them. At least you know that I didn't make any presumptions for this trip.”
I give him a weak smile. “I guess.” The problem for me is that not having condoms isn't really an issue. But I know some men, particularly men like Max who don't want to be saddled into unplanned fatherhood by a gold digging woman, always use condoms, no matter what.
I take a breath. “We both had a clean bill of health before we traveled, so that's not an issue.”
“No, but—”
