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She’d certainly been repaid in full. Because, man, oh man, she’d been the one left shaking and unfulfilled. Yes, she’d brought him to his knees, literally. But looking down, seeing him with his mouth and tongue on her body, so warm, so tender, so close to where she’d wanted him to be—had been agony.
“I can’t believe you just left,” she whispered angrily as she got out of the tub, grabbed one of the towels off the counter and began drying off.
His quick departure rankled. No, she wasn’t going to sleep with him, she’d already decided. Getting further involved with him would be about as stupid as sitting in a tub full of water and turning on the hair dryer.
Good analogy. He could fry her brains and she knew it.
Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t want him to want her. She had to admit, if only to herself in the quiet bathroom—it bugged her that he’d walked away, that he’d been able to walk away. If the fit of his briefs was any indication, he had not been physically unaffected by her.
Which meant he didn’t want her mentally.
“Well, doesn’t this suck eggs,” she muttered. The first guy she’d had sex with in two years, and it wasn’t even good enough to make him want seconds, not even when she had been wet and naked right in front of him.
Frowning, she moved faster, drying her body in quick, almost rough strokes. She winced as the cotton scraped across her bruised hip. Biting her lip, she looked at it in the mirror and winced. Okay, yes, an ice pack would be good.
Tucking the towel around her body, sarong-style, she reached for the other one and used it to dry her hair.
“I can think of a better use for an ice pack,” she muttered. If she truly wanted to feel better, she should put the damn thing between her legs to try to cool herself off where she was really aching.
But cold, hard ice wasn’t what she wanted between her legs. She wanted hot, hard man. One big, hot, hard man.
“No way, Kate. It’s a Hugh Jackman fantasy and a vibrating fingertip for you tonight,” she muttered as she bent to wrap the towel around her hair.
“Vibrating fingertip?”
Still bent at the waist, she winced, hoping those weren’t Jack’s sexy bare feet she spied right outside the partly open doorway. Praying that hadn’t been his voice and he hadn’t heard her comment about needing to get herself off with an actor fantasy and a vibrator.
She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the feet were still there. And she was still bent in front of him like some kowtowing servant. He’d heard.
Kate knew she had three choices—ignore him, pretend he’d misunderstood or be bold and shameless about the whole thing. Knowing what Cassie would do—what any self-respecting Tremaine woman should do—she took a deep breath. Brazen it out.
“Yeah, a vibrating fingertip,” she said, standing and twisting the towel so it would stay on her hair. Her upraised arm caused the towel wrapped around her body to loosen. As it began to slip, she caught it at the tip of her breasts, and tucked it back together. Then she risked a glance at Jack. His chest was moving rapidly, as if he had to struggle to breathe.
She had a feeling it wasn’t the lingering steam in the bathroom making him gasp.
Thank heaven.
“It’s actually a clever little vibrator that slips over your finger and feels…mmm…so good.” She licked her lips. “I have it right here in my purse, and can take care of myself anytime I want,” she added, not knowing how she could be stupid enough to step even closer to the fire in which he could consume her. But step she did. Then even closer. “Would you like me to show it to you?” She lowered her voice. “I remember you’re the kind of man who appreciates visual images.”
Jack’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. “Sit down.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he said, his voice low and thick. “Sit down, Kate.”
He stepped closer. Not waiting for her to obey, he instead pushed her with the tip of his index finger until she backed up against the bathroom counter. Sliding up to sit on it, she held her breath, wondering what he would do next, wondering what she’d begun…and if she dared to finish it.
