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“Cassie?” He stuck his head in a little farther. If she was napping, she’d just have to wake up. This was work, not a vacation.
No answer. Her bed was made, and in fact, there didn’t seem to be anyone in the room at all.
His stomach dropped. Could she be somewhere with Junior?
Stepping fully into the room, he closed the door behind him. “Cassie?” he called, at full volume this time. “You in here?”
“Jack?” came the reply. It sounded like she was far away. “I’m outside.”
He moved toward the door to the balcony, which had been left slightly ajar. “What the hell are you doing outside? It’s freezing, and…”
Oh. Oh no. He remembered Tania instructing the housekeeper to give Cassie “the nice room.” Apparently “the nice room” came with a hot tub.
There was a hot tub on her balcony, and she was inside it. Presumably naked.
Fuck.
“Jack? What are you doing here?”
He couldn’t see much of her because of the steam billowing off the surface of the water, so her voice sounded odd, disembodied. Then one arm snaked out and felt around the edge of the tub. He spied a towel just out of her grasp. The gentlemanly thing would be to hand it to her.
He did nothing. Just stood there while his skin heated, even in the sub-zero air. He caught sight of a shoulder as she leaned a little over the edge, still in search of the towel. Water poured off reddened flesh, and his dick, which had already been making itself known, went rock hard.
He took a step forward. He could reach the towel now. His hands closed over the fluffy white terrycloth.
He moved it out of her reach.
“Go inside, and I’ll be in in a sec,” she said. He thought she must be facing away from him given the way her voice was muffled.
“Okay,” he said through the wall of steam. He was lying. His body had taken over, and it was battling with his better self. His better self was losing, because he clicked the door shut audibly behind him, making it sound like he’d gone back inside. But he hadn’t. He just kept standing there, a fool staring at a cloud of steam, about to make a huge mistake.
He had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from groaning when she stood up. She had been facing away from him. As she stood and the steam parted, it was her back his eyes rested on. She lifted her hair over her head to wring water from it, exposing an elegant neck. Sexy shoulder blades—who knew shoulder blades could be sexy?—and then her waist narrowed before she widened out at the hips.
And her ass. Oh, her ass. Pink from the hot water, and so pert. Generous. Ideal in proportion to the rest of her. His fingers started flexing of their own accord. Christ, those ass checks were so grabbable, each a perfect, overflowing handful.
Then she turned.
“Shit,” he groaned, at exactly the same time she gasped. Her eyes widened and one hand flew to her mouth. Yes, surprise. He was supposed to be inside, not out here ogling her, but he didn’t care anymore. It mattered only that the shock painting her features give way to something else. He didn’t want surprise.
He wanted…yes, there it was. Desire. She caught her lower lip with her top teeth and let out a little sigh. He let his eyes slide down her front, lingering on her criminally gorgeous breasts, her rounded hips, the dark V of curls where her thighs met. Every inch of her shimmered as the afternoon light hit her wet skin.
They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, suspended like ice statues in the arctic air. He wasn’t sure who made the first move, just that suddenly they were launching themselves at each other, and he was dragging her out of the tub and back into her room.
“You’ll get wet,” she said, even as she wrapped her legs around his waist, soaking his jeans with the rivers of water running off her body.
He didn’t bother answering in words, just crashed his mouth down on hers and let himself gather those handfuls of ass. The groan that ripped from his throat sounded totally alien to him, calling to mind torture as much as pleasure. It triggered an answering moan from Cassie, who threw her head back in clear invitation.
He licked his way down her neck, more quickly than he perhaps should. He couldn’t resist the siren call of those pink, now rock-hard nipples. When he took one in his mouth, she cried out and pushed him toward the bed, shoving him down and climbing on top of him. He struggled to keep her breast in his mouth the whole time and, once they were horizontal, both breasts dangling above him, he used his hands to knead them, too.
When she responded by snatching them away, he growled. But she’d pulled back just enough to undo his fly. He lifted his hips off the bed, and she slid his pants and underwear off in one swoop. Then—oh, God—she straddled him.
