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Had she gone too far? Her intention had been to taunt, to arouse, then to walk away leaving him to imagine her touching herself in another room in the house. Somehow, though, things had changed. He’d taken control of the situation.
She didn’t pause to evaluate why she didn’t care.
He reached for her thighs, tugging her closer to the edge of the counter. Then he gently eased her knees apart.
She shuddered. “Jack, I…”
“You don’t have to take care of yourself.”
Her eyes widened and her heart pounded with the primal rhythms of a tribal drum in her chest.
“I’m going to take care of you this time,” he whispered.
She held her breath as he reached for her towel, tugging it open at the bottom, exposing one thigh all the way up to her hip. The other flap of the towel remained over her lap, caught almost coyly between her thighs. He made no effort to tug it free, instead trailing his fingers on her flesh in a slow, gentle caress.
Kate closed her eyes, waiting for a voice to scream in her head, telling her to stop, to not be taken in by him again. Great sex and a whole bunch of earth-shaking orgasms won’t cancel out the hurt of his disinterest later.
Who the hell was she kidding? Right now, at this very moment, great sex and a whole bunch of orgasms would be worth just about anything, including a kidney or her firstborn child.
It was only when she felt the frigidly cold water splash on her leg, and the colder ice pack connect with her aching bruise, that she realized what he’d meant by taking care of her.
“You’re taking care of my hip.”
He nodded. Only a tiny twitch of his lips told her he knew what she’d been picturing him taking care of.
Touché. Score one for Mr. Gorgeous. She almost groaned out loud. But she didn’t. This game wasn’t over yet. Especially because he did not simply leave the pack in her capable hands and walk out of the room. No. He stayed, holding it against her skin, still standing between her knees. His jaw remained rigid as he sucked in deep breaths, as if he were trying to control himself by sheer force of will.
She dared a quick glance down. Those tight briefs can’t lie, sweetheart. She almost purred with satisfaction at the sight of his immense hard-on. A small spot of moisture on the gray cotton tempted her beyond belief. She wanted to touch it, taste it with her tongue. Wanted to have him explosive, hot and wet in her hand. Her mouth. Her body. All three.
Smiling slightly, she murmured, “Thank you for the ice.”
“I really am sorry I hurt you,” he rasped.
Her hip? Her heart? Her feelings? He didn’t clarify. She didn’t ask.
“Funny thing, ice. So cold, it’s almost painful. Yet it’s…pleasurable in a way. Makes me feel tingly.”
“Tingly?”
“Yeah. Almost…hot. As strange as that sounds.”
“Shut up, Kate, you’re breaking my concentration.”
She grinned. “Uh, sure. I know it takes a lot of concentration to hold an ice pack on someone. I mean, I’m sure that’s why there’s such a high turnover rate in the candy striper field…all that ice pack holding. Sheer torture.”
His bare shoulders—so thick, broad and toned—shook as he chuckled. Darn, he’d succeeded in distracting her. The laughter hadn’t changed the way she felt, though. She shifted, not feigning her discomfort on the hard surface of the small counter. She was wet and throbbing, sensitive and needy, and the countertop didn’t help things. “This isn’t the most comfortable place to sit. It’s almost as hard as that table at the Rialto.”
His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at the ice pack, holding it steady. Now and then, though, she’d feel his fingers shift, feel him touch her, just the tip of an index finger on her hipbone. So light and fleeting at first she thought she’d imagined it. Now she ached for it.
“So, you never answered my question, Jack.”
“What question?”
“About whether you want to see my little toy.”
“I thought you were joking.”
Reaching for her purse, she unzipped a side pouch and pulled out the small carrying case.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, staring at the plastic pouch. His stare never wavered as she flicked the snap open with her thumb.
