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He expected a crash of emotion after such intensity. He usually took specific steps to contradict the crash—a blan-ket, a bottle of water, some soothing words and a comfort-ing embrace. But the moment he spotted her tears, and her inner fury at such a weakness, he only longed to hold her close. rock her, kiss away her tears, and keep her with him.
Definitely not his normal reaction.
The delicious scent of coconut and musk and sex hit his nostrils. Under the lure of orgasm, he’d made her agree to another night. Why would he do that? The voice whispered the truth, and icy fear trickled down his spine.
Because he didn’t want to lose her.
Already, after a few hours, he was hooked on Julietta Conte. Fascinated by her honesty and strength and vulner-ability, he only wanted more. of course, it was impossible.
Working together, yes. Perhaps an affair for a limited time with both of them clear on the outcome. Long term?
Never.
The chill deepened. While she’d grown up in a loving household, he’d fought with fists and knives and wits to keep his belly full. His escape from two previous homes after his parents died pegged him as a problem child in the system. especially because of his age—nine was the beginning of the no-touch number. Foster families and parents wanted babies, or toddlers, or even that cute seven-year-old who had a shot at normalcy. eleven was hormones and messiness and smart-ass remarks. He knew the moment he walked into his third foster home it would be different.
There was a layer of fear he scented in the air, and the man with the beefy fists, ruddy features, and bloated belly held an element of mean. The social worker hadn’t given a shit.
And once he was placed with his new family, the rules were clearly laid out, beginning with a beating with a belt on his bare back.
Strike. No running away. They needed the money.
Strike. No causing trouble.
Strike. No interference with disciplining the other kids.
Strike. one meal per day. Stealing any more would mean consequences.
Strike. No telling. Anyone. ever. Penalty?
Strike.
The worst nightmare he could think of.
Dickhead threw him a towel to wipe off the blood, then made him replace his T-shirt. He remembered the raw skin sticking to the material and how with each step he battled nausea and passing out. He also knew it would set the tone for the future. If he failed, Dickhead would come after him on a daily basis. Strength and control were keys to survival.
After day one of hell began, he endured for years, until he turned eighteen and finally escaped.
And realized by saving himself he had killed another.
His foster brother.
“Hey.”
He blinked away the memory and smiled. Her husky voice was sexy as hell, and a faint blush stained her cheekbones. Adorable. His erection pressed against her thigh and her eyes widened.
“Hey.” He ran a knuckle down her heated skin. “How do you feel?”
“Good.” She rolled her eyes in self mockery. “That’s a lie. I feel incredible. Like gooey caramel—all warm and melty.”
His c**k twitched. That was exactly how she felt when he slid into her—cloaking him in rich clingy heat. He thought about tumbling her back for one more orgasm but knew she had to be sore. Time to take care of her comfort needs first. “There’s a Turkish bath and steam shower in the bathroom. I’m going to start the water for you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, then slid out of bed and padded naked to the connecting bathroom. The huge glass shower doors were framed in rich gold, and the walls boasted an elabo-rate mosaic of earth tones. Steam hissed from the walls and formed a thick cloud. He pulled onto another knob and warm water sprayed from the ceiling onto slate tiles and the specially carved matching bench. He laid out some snowy white towels and the hotel robes, then made his way back to the bedroom.
Humor twisted his lips. She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped like a mummy in the sheets. Her face reflected a blend of shyness and aggravation. She’d soon remember who was in charge and lose some of her innate inhibitions.
Crossing one ankle over the other, he leaned against the door. “Shower’s ready.”
Her gaze flicked over his fully erect dick and nakedness.
Her teeth pulled at her lip, then she stood up in a flash, shoulders back, dark eyes gleaming with stubbornness. She marched across the room like the Queen of Sheba with the sheets trailing behind her. Hesitating when she got close, he refused to move aside, wondering what she’d do.
With a haughty sniff, she stalked past him, dropped the sheet, and stepped into the shower. The doors closed with a relieved click and he bit back the urge to laugh out loud.
His queen would soon realize there was no hiding from him. Anywhere.
He allowed her a few minutes of privacy as he went back to the main suite area and poured glasses of water.
Loading them on a tray with some crackers, cheese, and veggies, he placed it on the table next to the lounge chair.
He added two flutes of fizzy champagne and headed to the shower.
The expression on her face when he opened the doors and stepped in was priceless. Trying to look dignified with her hair wet and a deliciously naked body on display, she did a half turn, trying to hide her embarrassment. Sawyer was looking forward to blowing past every social nicety she ever had about sex. Including bathing together and what he could do with a shower nozzle.
His lips quirked. “Need some help?”
“No, thank you.”
This time he laughed. Grabbed the loofah sponge she held in a death grip, and poured some gel into his hands.
“Too bad.”
With nothing to hold, she mustered enough courage to snort and turn her back on him, obviously picking the least embarrassing position. Her gorgeous ass and grace-fully curving spine only made him thank God he was a man. There was nothing as sensual as a woman’s rear, and Julietta’s lean length and soft skin were made for his hands.
He stepped in and pulled her hips back to rest against him.
She sucked in her breath.
“I can wash myself.” Her body stiffened. “In fact, I’m all done, so if you will excuse me. . . .”
“Have you ever showered with a man before?” He dragged the soapy sponge over her br**sts.
“of course.”
“Liar.” He dipped down, making wide circles over her belly, hips, and upper thighs. His c**k throbbed in the notch between her thighs. “I’m glad you haven’t. I like showing you things for the first time.”
