“Good, because your clothes are a state, and you’ve got dried blood on your skin. Let’s get you in the shower, because I’m going to wash you.”
“And after that?” he asked, voice husky.
“Bed,” she said firmly.
Forty-Six
“Bathroom?” Cally asked, pointing to the obvious door in the wall.
“Yes.”
“We don’t need this,” Cally said, pushing the remains of his tuxedo jacket off his shoulders. It fell to the floor at his feet, and she took in the state of his shirt. She’d seen the rips and bloodstains, but to see how many there were, how excessively he had bled—the shirt was stained so much that there was hardly any of the original white left. She looked up at him, eyes filled with worry. “Are you all right? Do you need to feed?”
“I’m fine,” he said softly. “I fed on Tobias, if you recall. After the taste of your blood,mon amour, it was a little like sipping from an open sewer pipe. But it held enough power to heal.” He pulled open a cut in his shirt, and the fabric, sodden with his blood, parted easily. “See?” he said, showing the skin beneath. “Not a mark left.”
“Then we don’t need this either.” She slipped her fingers inside the slashes in his shirt and tugged. It came away easily, like unwrapping a present, his fine musculature revealed, piece by piece.
He gave her a dry look. “You are developing a fetish for destroying my clothes.”
“No, I’m not. The shirt was already ruined!” She stepped back, watching him guardedly. “Don’t tear mine,” she warned, protecting herself with her hands. “I didn’t bring any others.”
“That is hardly an incentive to behave,ma chérie.But you started the clothes destruction, not I.”
“Really?” she said with an arched eyebrow. “I have a different recollection. In fact, didn’t we fly over a pair of my ripped pantiesthis evening? I could’ve sworn I saw them, caught on a chimney beneath us.”
“Guilty.” Antoine held his hands up in surrender and smiled wryly. “A truce perhaps? While we still have something to wear?”
She faked a pout and started to unbutton her blouse, then turned away as she slipped it off her shoulders. She knew he was watching. She unclipped her bra, let it drop to the floor, and kicked off her ankle boots.
Behind her, he exhaled slowly, a soft sound in the quiet of the room. It made her smile.
“Is it a big shower?” she asked, as she unfastened her chinos.
He’d moved with his usual speed and stealth, and she hadn’t heard him. But he was behind her, his hand trailing gently down her back. “So beautiful,” he murmured.
It wasn’t an answer, but she’d take it.
She drew down her chinos, the move deliberate and slow, keeping her legs straight as she bent. It pushed her ass against him, exactly as she’d intended, and his firm thigh pressed back.
“You are teasing me,ma chérie.”
“No, I’m promising you.” She straightened, pushed her panties over her hips and let them fall to her ankles, then stepped out and walked toward the door he’d indicated. She looked playfully back over her shoulder. “I’ll scrub your back if you scrub mine.”
His gaze was intense with arousal, so hungry it prickled across her skin, making her want to shiver. He followed her, unbuckling his belt as he came. Not the belt she’d snapped, of course, but he owned so many.
Or he had, at least, back in the house they wouldn’t visit again.
She opened the bathroom door, and it was more than she’d expected. Clean modern plumbing, ceramic tiles, and a walk-in shower, no expense spared. It suited Antoine; it just didn’t suit the house. But the basement was where he really lived; the dusty rooms above were nothing more than a smokescreen.
It didn’t take long to get a pleasant flow of warm water, and by then he’d joined her. His hands traced over her shoulders frombehind, sweeping her wet hair aside, and he kissed the side of her neck. She angled her head in offering and leaned against him, and his hands slipped around to cup her breasts. She reached back for him, finding his thigh with one hand, his hip with the other, and arched into his touch. He ran his fingers lightly over her stiff nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.
Beneath her feet, the water ran pink. It somewhat spoiled the mood.
“You’re up first,” she said, reaching for the shower gel he had hanging nearby. “I want this blood off you, and then I’m going to lick every inch of your skin.”
But Antoine reached up and brushed his thumb across her forehead, wiping away the circle of dried blood on her own skin that she’d all but forgotten about. The one over her heart had mostly washed away beneath the spray of water, but he helped it on its journey, then bent to place a kiss where it had been.
Cally washed him slowly, letting the anticipation build, trailing her hands over him. His broad shoulders, firm chest, the tantalizing ridges of his stomach. Skin warm and slippery beneath the soap, which smelled subtly of eucalyptus, lemon, and a hint of cedarwood. It suited him.
