Page 28 of Sasha’s Secret

She ducked around him and put a couple of feet between them. “I could really use a shower.”

He watched the hypnotic sway of her hips as she headed toward his bathroom. When she reached the doorway, she stopped and turned.

“Well? Are you going stand there all night, or join me?”

Chapter 7

In the past, Rocco had enjoyed the thrill of the chase when he’d set his sights on a woman he wanted in his bed. Conversely, there’d also been more than one occasion, while he’d still been serving with the Regiment, when he’d been the target for a woman who wanted to win bragging rights among her friends for spending the night with a trooper.

None of those women would come close to the classy lady in front of him and for that, he thanked God.

He took her hand, intending to lead her into the shower enclosure. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She didn’t move. “I need to finish unwrapping my present first.”

“What present?”

“You.”

Rocco raised an eyebrow. “Finish? Seems to me you’ve barely even started. Come here.”

He lifted her onto the bathroom counter, grinning at her shocked shriek when her bare ass came into contact with the marble surface. From his point of view, it was a small price to pay to have her at pretty much the perfect height.

He couldn’t help himself—he had to kiss her, because kissing her was becoming as essential for his survival as breathing. Fingertips under her chin were enough to guide her into the perfect position for their lips to meet. He tasted her as delicately as if she were his father’s finest vintage. Her skin was soft beneath his fingertips, her body sleek and taut like a jungle cat. She quivered as he explored the dips and swells of her lusciously feminine body, and when he finally rested his hands on her thighs, she parted them willingly, allowing him to step closer. He lowered his head to suckle at her breast and almost lost it when her palm cradled the back of his head.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes.”

Her mournful complaint coaxed his lips into a smile, and in the process, he released her nipple.

“Whose fault is that?” Rocco straightened up. “I’m still waiting for you to finish with my shirt.”

Her hands returned to the place they’d occupied, burning his skin through the material that separated his flesh from hers, but this time, as if she’d finally tuned into his most intimate thoughts, she wrapped her delectable legs around his hips, too.

Rocco felt the smooth pull of fabric across his skin as Sasha eased the next button through the hole and drew his shirt to one side. She leaned forward, and before he knew it, her lips were branding his skin. To take his mind off the incendiary effect on his nervous system, Rocco stroked her hair and pushed it back, so he could kiss the side of her neck. Her quiet hum of pleasure stoked his inner blaze even higher.

“You smell so good,” he murmured, his nose buried in her hair, while his hands busied themselves with caressing her.

“I’ve been working out for over an hour, remember? I smell anything but good.”

Her protest made him chuckle. “You should try getting to the end of a long-range foot patrol with a bunch of soldiers whose personal hygiene was questionable to start with. I think we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“What we’ll have to do is get you undressed.” Her mouth curved into a devious, feline smile, the kind that had been the death of unsuspecting men for centuries.

For a split second, he expected her to rip his shirt open and send buttons ricocheting around the bathroom. Instead, she took the civilized approach of using a more orthodox method to dispense with the remaining buttons, before turning her attention to the cufflinks at his wrists. With great care, she removed them, set them to one side, and turned her sultry gaze back to him.

“Now we can even things up.”

Her hands stroked slowly down his chest. The sensation sent waves of arousal through his body. When she reached his pants, she tugged the garment free, but rather than finish the job and remove it, she slipped her hands beneath the cool cotton, and the next thing he was aware of was her palms skimming around his waist to his back.

Rocco growled in frustration.

Her fingers danced up his back, exploring every pad of muscle, the dip to his spine, until, without warning, without breaking contact with his body, she brought her hands back to his chest, and pushed the garment over his shoulders. She even managed to snatch it before it fell to the floor, and in a continuation of the movement, tossed it to one side.

Then she leaned back and stared at him, eyes wide and unreadable.

Bereft at the abrupt loss of contact, Rocco wasn’t used to that kind of reaction from the women he dated. While he was no bodybuilder—that kind of muscle could easily be more of an impediment than an asset in a combat zone—he worked out regularly and his job kept him mission-fit. Most women seemed to be drawn to that, rather than recoiling from it.

Then she spoke.