“It’s ready for whenever I want to use it,” he explained. “Bathroom is through there. You want a bath?”
I sighed with tiredness. “Better make it a shower.”
He smiled. “Come on.” The bathroom was white tile and blue walls with a large claw-foot bathtub and a separate glass shower. He opened the linen closet and pulled out two towels and hung them on the rack. While Flynn turned on the water and adjusted the temperature, I took a moment to examine my body. Dirty feet, chipped toenail polish, torn gala dress.
I refused to look in the mirror, afraid of what I’d see.
I removed my amethyst drop earrings and matching cuff and set them aside. Flynn helped me out of my ruined dress and then went for his own clothes. The formal jacket and crisp white shirt went first. And then the kilt dropped. I couldn’t stop a snort of laughter. Flynn grinned at me.
“It’s true what they say. What a Scotsman wears under his kilt. Or doesn’t,” I said.
Flynn nodded and then urged me into the steaming shower. He stepped in behind me, and I leaned back into the cradle of his body. He was hard and ready and through my tiredness, I wanted him. I needed him. I tried to turn around to reach for him, but he stopped me.
“No,” he said.
“Why?”
Flynn went for the bar of soap, made a lather, and ran his hands up and down my back. He was not attempting to seduce, but to take care, comfort. This felt different from any other time Flynn had touched me.
“I’m a selfish bastard,” he said, his hands continuing to roam my body, washing off all traces of the night. “I wanted you. From the moment I saw you in that French restaurant, I wanted you. I was willing to do anything to have you.” A shiver raced up and down my spine.
He paused, obviously weighing his words. “But I never expected you to come to mean something to me. And now you do—and I’ve dragged you into all of this. And I just—”
“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” I tried to push his hands away, but his fingers tightened on my hips. “You don’t want me to go to London with you anymore.”
“Did you not hear me when I said I was a selfish bastard?” he demanded, his breath hot on my ear. “I should’ve let you go while you still had a chance, but you’re in this now. Whether you want to be or not. Dolinsky went after you to get to me. Because he knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Knows that you’re mine.” He maneuvered me to face him. He gently touched my chin, and his mouth came down on mine, hungry, unstoppable.
I kissed him back, grasping at him, wanting him closer, wanting to feel him inside me. Needing it. Needinghim.
“If I’m yours,” I panted against his mouth, “then you’re mine.”
“Aye,” he agreed roughly.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Before I knew what was happening, Flynn turned me away from him. The water beat down on us, warm droplets coating my skin.
His erection stroked the crease of me, and Flynn bit down on the skin where my shoulder met my neck. I pressed my hands against the glass wall of the shower. Flynn’s fingers teased my opening, fluttering against my swollen flesh.
Without a word, he sank into me, one arm around me, the other braced against the wall. We stood like that for a moment, neither one of us moving. Joined.
I squirmed against him, needing relief. He bent me over and fucked me. Fucked me with raw abandon, branding me.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“You’re mine.”
His fingers tormented me, driving me wilder, crazier. “Say it.”
“I’m yours!” I cried. Faster and faster he pounded into me, his fingers merciless. I slammed my hands against the glass and shouted when I came. He pulled me to him, and with a guttural shout of his own, found his release.
He eased out of me but kept close. I straightened my back and turned to look at him over my shoulder. “You didn’t speak of love.”
“Neither did you,” he pointed out.
I grinned and reached for the soap. “All right then.”
