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The seconds’ wait seemed interminable. At last there came the rattle and click of the security chain and dead bolt. Then the door swung inward.
“Come in.” Sloan backed away from the opening in further invitation, a bath towel in her hand and a white terry-cloth robe swaddled around her slight frame. Her hair was a tousle of slick, wet strands that framed a face absent of any makeup, revealing a beauty that was absolutely natural. “I’m running a little late, I’m afraid,” she said and turned away, reaching up to briskly towel her wet hair as she retreated into the room. “When I checked with my answering service, there were some calls I had to return, and they took longer than I planned.”
“No problem,” Trey told her and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Have a seat.” Sloan waved a hand at the room’s lone chair. “I promise I won’t be long.”
“You don’t have to hurry on my account.” But Trey made no move toward the chair, not with a king-sized bed dominating his view.
For a moment he stared at its smoothly made surface, the sight of it conjuring up images of the way he wanted the night to end. The rawness of all those desires made him restless and edgy. He took off his hat and turned it absently in his hand, while his glance scoured the rest of the room. Except for a black carry-on bag on the luggage rack and a smaller leather bag on the floor next to it, there was little evidence of the room’s occupant.
“Are you always this neat?” he asked, thinking of his sister, who would have had her stuff strewn all over.
Sloan moved back into his line of vision, flipping open the carry-on and retrieving a cosmetic bag from it. “It isn’t so much a matter of neatness as it is organization. Keeping things put away eliminates the risk of leaving something behind and makes the packing process go much faster.”
“Makes sense.” It also made sense that she could leave at a moment’s notice. It was a knowledge that reached down into his guts and churned them up.
“It does to me.” Sloan disappeared into the bathroom.
But she didn’t close the door. Trey gravitated to the opening, arriving as the loud hum of the hair dryer started up. Sloan stood facing the mirror, holding the dryer in one hand while she finger-combed and fluffed with the other. She turned her head to aim the dryer at the other side and caught sight of him in the doorway.
“This really won’t take long,” she told him, her voice lifting to make itself heard above the dryer’s noisy hum. “I just want to get it damp-dry.”
“No hurry. We’ve got all night,” Trey replied, but his mind locked on the night thing.
Remnants of the shower’s steam edged the bathroom mirror, beading into moist droplets. Its presence prompted Trey to notice the bathroom’s excessive warmth and heavy humidity. His glance strayed to the combination tub and shower and the wet sheen of its sides.
With no effort at all, he visualized Sloan standing beneath the spray, water sluicing down her shoulders onto her breasts and stomach. It was an easy leap to imagine himself showering with her, his hands gliding over her slick skin in an exploration of its rounded curves.
The blood started hammering so loudly in his head that he never heard the hair dryer click off. But the clear sound of Sloan’s voice penetrated to shatter the images in his mind.
“Why don’t you go watch some television while I finish getting ready?” The tone of suggestion was in her voice, but her hand was reaching for the bathroom door as if to close it on him when Trey jerked his gaze back to her. “The remote should be on the stand by the bed.”
Not trusting his voice, Trey nodded and turned from the opening. He was conscious of the bathroom door swinging shut as he took his first steps away from it. That forward impetus carried him partway into the room. Then he halted at the foot of the bed.
Television held no appeal to him, not with all these fevered longings coursing through him. They left him raw and hungry for the feel of Sloan in his arms. With all his senses sharpened by it, he turned the instant he heard the releasing click of the bathroom door latch.
Chapter Six
Sloan stepped out of the bathroom clad in a simple tan dress that intensified the golden hue of her skin. A smile curved her lips, the warmth of it matching the glow in her eyes.
“I told you I’d be quick. Unfortunately”—she turned, presenting her back to him—“I think the material’s caught in the zipper. Would you get it for me?”
It was a task Trey had performed countless times for his sister. But this wasn’t his sister. This was Sloan.
Rather stiffly, Trey crossed the intervening space to stand behind her, conscious of the roiling needs within. His hands shook when he fumbled with the zipper, finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the nearness of her skin over the ribbon of her spine.
“Your hands are trembling,” Sloan murmured on a marveling note.
“Damned right they are,” Trey admitted with some force. “That’s because they’d much rather be figuring out how to get this zipper down than up.”
With a turn of her shoulders, she gave him an over-the-shoulder look that held amusement and something else. “Most men wouldn’t admit that to a girl.”
“I’m not most men.” The curtness of his reply was a reflection of the tight control he was exercising over his baser instincts.
“I’m beginning to realize that.” There was a new light in her eyes, a darkening and deepening of interest that seemed to mirror his own.
His own desires were too close to the surface for Trey to care whether he had imagined it or not. He gave up any pretense of interest in the zipper and took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him.
