Hot Zone, page 17
“I live to serve.”
She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Perhaps I can take care of that myself.”
“The nozzle on the shower is insanely low and I wouldn’t want you to get a backache.” He stroked along her scalp in a tempting, teasing preshow. “Thought I would do you a favor, since your hand is bandaged.”
“Hmmm… I had such good medical treatment, my hand hardly hurts at all.” She trailed her palms down his chest, over his abs, which were so ripped she could count through the six pack. “I could just sit in the tub and let all that amazing well water wash over me until I’m finally, finally clean.”
“Yes, you could.” He linked his fingers with hers and tugged. “Or you could sit in the tub while I clean every inch of you.”
A shiver of possibility tingled through her. “What about Joshua?”
“The kid’s asleep behind that curtain. Exhausted. Out for the count.” He grazed his mouth over her ear, hot breath and even hotter proposition flowing. “We can leave the bathroom door open to listen for him.”
He dispelled concerns with a few sensible words. Sounded perfect. His hands along the back of her neck felt even better than perfect, and exactly what she needed after the hell they’d endured together. Why wasn’t she pitching off her clothes and racing for the tub?
Because she was finally feeling safe enough to think about the future. “Are you suggesting we pick up where we left off in the supply closet?”
“Whatever does or doesn’t happen in there will be different than the first time. Right now is about us making decisions rather than just reacting.” His forehead fell to rest on hers for two deep exhales before he continued, “I’m suggesting that I wash your hair, since you mentioned wanting it cleaned three times over.”
Her eyes drifted closed as she savored the gentle pressure soothing away a headache she hadn’t even realized was there. “You sure do know how to make a pitch.”
“So what’ll it be?”
She snuggled closer, hugging him low around his waist. “Orange sage and your magic fingers.”
“And just so you know, this will be different than that time in the storage closet.” He backed her into the retro pink washroom.
“How so?” She chewed her bottom lip as his next step danced her farther, the heat of his hard thigh pressing between her legs.
“This time will be slower.”
Goose bumps prickled along her skin. “And?”
“It’s not going to be as easy for you to make a speedy exit afterward.”
His hands on her hips, he backed her the rest of the way. Her bare feet padded along the raspberry tile until her calves bumped against the old-fashioned claw tub. Moonlight streamed through the skylight in a romantic rosy glow.
Her chin tipped. “I hear you, and I don’t have plans to go anywhere. Rather, I wouldn’t go anywhere even if I wasn’t completely dependent on Jocelyn’s hospitality right now.”
He dipped his head and she waited, anticipated his kiss, only to have his words caress her ear again. “Do you want me to help you undress?”
“I think I’ll take care of my clothes.”
“By all means, take your time. I’m not in any hurry.” He leaned against the sink, crossing his feet at the ankles.
Grabbing the edge of her shirt, she tugged up, inch by inch. His heated gaze warmed her bared flesh.
Grinning, she toed off her shoes one at a time. He folded his arms over his chest, seemingly a disinterested observer. Except she could see how thickly, how obviously aroused he was. So much so, he would have to ditch his own clothes soon.
She shimmied off the pants and stood in just the white cotton underwear and bra. And how ironic that the passion she saw in his eyes far surpassed anything she’d seen with her husband, even when she’d spent a fortune at the lingerie store.
Argh! She cut that train of thought off short. Right now she didn’t want to think about her ex-husband. The past needed to stay there for the moment.
She yanked off the bra and scraped down the panties, kicking them all into a heap. Hugh raised an eyebrow at her abruptness. She stepped into the old-fashioned tub, the spray from the low-set shower hitting her. Her stomach muscles contracted at the luxurious spray of water.
“It’s warmer than I expected,” she said, her nipples beading from the bliss. “Lukewarm, sure, but it’s water, water, water, and more water…” She tipped her head back and let the stream hit her on the face.
“Your bandage is getting wet,” he cautioned.
“Then you’ll just have change it for me afterward.” She glanced sideways at him, rivulets trickling down her neck. “Now hurry up and undress so you can warm me.”
“Ooh-rah.”
“Ooh-rah?”
“Military talk for oh yeah.”
Muscles rippling, he tugged his borrowed T-shirt over his head. It was such an everyday thing, taking off a shirt, but this was Hugh, bronzed and defined, with a tattoo across his left pec, some kind of musical scroll that made her curious.
Hugh stood in just khaki pants, low-slung on his hips. Only his pants. And that skylight let in just enough moonlight for her to see him.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled with awareness. His chest and feet were bare and damp from water misting out of the shower. Somehow it was the naked feet that made things feel more intimate. He wasn’t just some ripped man of the month, eye candy with his shirt off. He was a man alone with her—a man she happened to have had sex with not too long ago. Back before they’d actually known anything about each other.
She extended her hand for him to join her, waggling her fingers. “Join me.”
“Not yet.” He shook his head. “I told you. I’m going to wash your hair.”
His hands landed on her shoulders, gently easing her down to sit again. Moaning, she sank into the tub and clutched her legs, her forehead resting on her bent knees. Porcelain was cool against her bottom, then warm and warmer as the water gathered… Yeah. This was good.
He grabbed a plastic bottle with a homemade label—“Orange sage” written in calligraphy with a piece of fruit drawn in the corner, signed JPS, Jocelyn Pearson-Stewart. Would a wheeling-dealing criminal make her own soaps and shampoos? She relaxed a little deeper in the tub. The lukewarm beads caressed her like a liquid orgasm tingling over her dry, scraped skin.
Hugh sat on the edge and rubbed the shampoo over her hair, gathering up the ends to work it all into a lather. His fingertips pressed along her temples. He thrust his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp.
He was thorough, God, he was thorough, with all three shampoos and rinses that tingled from the roots all the way to her toes. The scented suds cascaded down her body, washing away grime, exhaustion, and something else indefinable. Barriers, maybe? Or the will to hold herself together. And in this vulnerable turned-on moment, emotions slammed over her faster than a tidal wave.
A shaking started deep inside her. Was she losing it? After all they’d been through, now she had to unravel? She hadn’t even realized her heel was stuck in the drain and the tub had started filling up. Her jaw trembled and she was pretty sure her legs wouldn’t hold her. Much longer and she would start crying over, hell, everything.
She turned her head on her knees, letting the spray caress her face. “Really, you should join me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Somberly, he shucked his pants and underwear at the same time.
What a time to realize she hadn’t seen him completely naked before. The supply closet had been too dim, their encounter too hurried. But she looked him fully over now, taking in the raw strength of him. Not just bulging arms and muscular roped legs, but his ridged stomach, the breadth of his back declared his strength beyond anything she’d ever witnessed. She’d certainly seen all that strength in action, the power that couldn’t be gained from just pumping iron in a weight room.
And the tattoos. Plural. While she’d noticed the music scrolled across his chest, she definitely hadn’t noticed the green footprints inked on his calf. There was a story there, no doubt.
Except then he stepped into the water and her thoughts scattered. He sat behind her, bringing the water higher around them as his legs stretched out the length of the tub. His thick erection pressed against her back with a promise as large as everything else about the man.
He cupped her shoulders, guiding her to rest against his chest. “Relax…”
Really? Really? She was far from relaxed, with tension of another delicious kind seeping through her.
Then his hands slid forward to cup her breasts and she eased down into the water, giving him fuller access to keep caressing, soothing. The lingering soap on his hands made his touch slick against her nipples. The calluses along the pads of his finger rasped an added pleasure with each stroke, touch, plucking. His hands splayed wide, palming her in his broad, possessive hold.
Heat pooled between her legs, a sensation that had more to do with Hugh than the shower. And from the way he throbbed against her spine as she moved, he was enjoying this every bit as much as she was. Although, she could take things even higher by being a more active participant.
Swiping the washrag from the hook and the bottle of homemade liquid soap, she lathered a cloth, eyeing his muscled hairy legs on either side of her. She skimmed her fingers carefully around the angry red scratch on his calf where Oliver had cut him during their struggle in the van.
She dabbed along the angry red line. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m a medic, remember?” He kissed and nipped down her neck and along her shoulder. “I can take care of myself. I’m also military, which means I get a crap ton of immunizations. Think tetanus times twenty.”
Her hand slowed along his leg, the water chilling around her. “In case you’re injured in the line of duty.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled against her neck.
“And have you been?”
He stroked down from her breasts to her stomach, inching lower still until his fingertips were under the soapy water. And then he reached lower still, dipping one hand between her legs. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”
Her knees parted and it was her own slickness, her arousal, that smoothed his touch back and forth along her plumped, oversensitive flesh.
“Guess not.” She shook her head against his chest, her breath hitching as his fingers dipped lower, lower… just low enough. “Oh… Definitely not.”
“Good.” His laugh vibrated against her, through her. “Me neither.”
She tipped her face up toward him just in time to meet his kiss, opening, and what a time to realize there hadn’t been the luxury of time for making out. They’d shared life-and-death moments, deep personal secrets, and even mind-blowing sex. But somewhere along the line they’d missed out on this…
Careful not to break the passionate connection, she angled around and onto her knees until she straddled his lap. Water sluiced over the sides again as she settled on top of him. Facing him, she explored him with her hands and the soap. The shower sprayed on her back, sprinkling around onto him and swishing away the suds. She kissed her way over clean manly flesh. And God, she loved the way his pecs twitched under her lips. So she flicked her tongue, tasting, savoring as she worked her way across until the texture changed with his musical tattoo.
Abruptly, he stood, turned the shower off, and scooped her up into his arms in a move so smooth she barely had time to loop her arms around his neck before they reached the bed. His arms bulged with unmistakable strength under her legs and along her back.
He lowered her on the wide mattress, the crocheted spread enticingly abrasive against her bare skin. The moonlight streamed in through the windows, pouring down his naked body. Hugh stretched out over her, settling on top of her as he captured her mouth. And as much as she was enjoying the make-out session, she was ready for this to move forward.
Her fingernails dug into his flanks and she ached to have him inside her.
“Hurry…” She arched against him, wriggling her hips.
“We’re not rushing it this time.”
“Can we have fast”—she nipped his chin—“then slow?” She flicked her tongue over the same spot.
“Or slow… and even slower still.” He shifted positions with athletic fluidity, lifting her as he slid underneath her.
His erection pressed against her, nudging the tight bundle of nerves that screamed for attention and relief. He rocked his hips, sliding along her but not in her, a sweet torment, so much so, she grabbed his shoulders in a white-knuckled grip to keep from melting over him, off him.
His hands spanned her waist, steadying. “I’ve got you. Just relax and go with it. Let everything fly loose from the past few days.”
He sounded so in control, a part of her wanted to take the control away from him, make him as insanely on fire as he made her.
Faster and faster he guided her until a flush of anticipation prickled over her skin. Her breasts went tighter, her whole body gathering into a knot of need. She rocked more fully against him and reveled in the groan that slipped from between his gritted teeth.
That deeply growled sound of appreciation snapped the tension inside her. Her head flung back, her damp hair grazing her spine. Each brush stimulated and electrified her every heightened nerve, sending her closer and closer to completion. And he watched her as if reading her face, her body, as he stroked her while laving her breast with his tongue, tugging lightly with his teeth.
The bliss built… and built… until… release unfurled inside her. Pleasure shimmered over her nerve endings as if he touched every part of her at once. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her trembling arms all that kept her from collapsing on top of him. He’d pleasured her to the roots of her hair and still she wanted more of him…
“Protection,” she gasped. “We need protection. Or maybe I could—”
“Hold on.” His hand left her breast to scoop his survival vest from the bedside table. “I’ve got this.”
She remembered their conversation from the supply closet about a condom being kept in the survival vest, a more compact way to keep a water carrier. He pulled the packet and tossed aside the vest. Hugh sheathed himself before the last glimmer of ecstasy seeped from her. And then he was inside her, wringing fresh spasms of pleasure from her with each forceful thrust. She came again and again, and thank God for his bracing hold that kept her upright, taking him deeper, because she couldn’t have stayed upright without him.
Biting her lip, she held back the need to shout. While the curtain shielding the cubby room gave them privacy, they still needed to stay silent or risk waking the sleeping little one… not to mention everyone else in the sprawling stucco home.
Finally, finally, the last spasm wrung through her, leaving her limp. Replete. Her fingers unfurled against his chest and she hadn’t even realized she’d scored his skin.
Aftershocks shivered through her until she found herself clutching his shoulders tightly again. She wasn’t the scratching, screaming sort—or rather she hadn’t been before Hugh.
She slumped against his chest. His whispers flowed hotly against her ear as he thrust faster, his voice more urgent. His arms banded around her as he hissed his own release. Muscles bunched and gathered in his arms, tendons tight in his neck.
Once the last shimmer faded, she considered rolling off him, cuddling, but she couldn’t will her body to move. The wind whispered in through the open window, cooling the perspiration on her skin. She drifted in and out of that hazy afterglow.
Her toes skimmed along the tiny green footprints inked on his calf. “What are all the little footprints?”
“It’s a work thing.” His voice vibrated against her, through her.
“Such as?” she asked, enjoying the normalcy of talking as they lingered in the afterglow.
“During Vietnam, pararescuemen were most often transported in a big-ass helicopter called the Jolly Green Giant,” he explained while drawing lazy circles along her back. “Green footprints became our signature tat.”
“Big-ass helicopter?” She chuckled. “Is that a technical term?”
“HH-3 and HH-53, actually. But big-ass chopper just paints a more vivid picture.” Moonbeams through the windows illuminated his grin.
“I agree.” Her fingers skipped along the scratches on his chest. Then from there to the other tattoo, which she suspected held an even deeper story—a staff of musical notes scrolled across his heart. “And this tattoo?”
His hands went still on her back.
“Hugh?”
“Yeah, uh…” He shifted from under her and pulled the sheet over them both. “It’s, uh, a riff from my daughter’s favorite song.”
His answer knocked the wind out of her. She eyed each musical note, a lump settling in her throat. She sagged onto the pillow beside him. No matter how hard they tried, the past was a part of who they were now.
He stroked her wet hair behind her ear. “Aren’t you going to ask me what the song is?”
Patting his chest, she shook her head. She couldn’t probe that wound.
His hand closed over hers. “It’s from a Jimmy Buffett song called ‘Little Miss Magic.’”
“I’ve never heard it, but it sounds…” Sweet? Heartbreaking? “Special.”
“Yeah…” He squeezed her fingers once gently, and moved them away to his shoulder.
“We should, uh, sleep.” Her cheek rested against his shoulder, slick with water, sweat. The light welts of her scratches pressed against her face with a reminder of how easily she’d lost control. How quickly she became someone different with him, a man who was still deeply locked in grief for his dead family.
***
Amelia slept like the dead.
Hugh wished he could stare at her all night long, learn more about her. The way a person slept said a lot about them. She curled on her side, knees tucked tight and protectively. He wished she could be more relaxed, free in sleep, but her body told a different story. But then after all she’d been through, he shouldn’t be surprised. He just wanted to stick around and learn more, be there when she uncurled with security again.
