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After grabbing a clean shirt, he fell back down the hallway and rapped on the bathroom door. The sound of water running got his imagination going. She could be naked in there. Naked and wet. She had a gorgeous body, all toned, tanned lines and feminine strength. He could... He didn’t know what he could do. Hell.
The water stopped, followed by the sounds of movement inside. Had he left a towel in there? Damn. He had no idea, but he was no Martha Stewart. If he was lucky, he had toilet paper and a toothbrush. The door cracked, and Mia stared through the small space. She still sported the purple shadows underneath her eyes, but her color was better. Maybe her stomach was finally settling down.
“What?”
Yeah. What? He was standing and staring. He yanked his attention back to the job at hand and waved the shirt at her. “Wardrobe change.”
She grabbed his peace offering, which meant she had to open the door farther. Bingo. He had his opening. He should move back. Give her space. Instead, he curled a hand around the frame and inserted a foot into the crack she’d created. She was fully dressed, although she smelled like mint and hand soap. He stared at her while she turned his offering over in her hands and examined it.
“You’re giving me a Navy T-shirt?” She looked up at him, her eyes laughing. How had he missed her sense of humor? She’d also unbraided her hair, and the loose waves made her look softer. Younger. Okay...it also made her look tousled and fresh out of bed, so the new hairstyle wasn’t a good thing because it gave him too many ideas.
He’d grabbed the first clean T-shirt he’d found and, yeah, it might also have been the only clean shirt in his possession at the moment. Beggars, choosers and all that. If she didn’t like her choice, she could wear her own things or go naked. Naked definitely worked for him.
He shrugged, as if some small part of him didn’t like the thought of her wearing his shirt. “The shirt’s optional.”
She wasn’t looking at the clothing, though—instead, she was staring at him and, more specifically, at his mouth. How was he supposed to be a gentleman? She was a veteran. Injured. And breathtaking. He was going to hell, but he wanted his own brand of sensual revenge. She’d pulled rank on him during their one night in San Diego, and he...well, he’d been willing to let her. Not this time. This time he had plans—if he was being honest with himself—for erotic payback.
“Open the door or close it.” He growled the words, no longer interested in playing nice. His voice sounded rough and harsh to his own ears and, oh yeah, needy. While she, on the other hand, had made it perfectly clear she didn’t need him so much. He was a place to stay and a toothbrush, although she could have taken care of the problem on her own. Even puking on the beach, Mia was frighteningly competent.
He moved a step nearer, his fingers digging into the door frame. He was close enough to feel the heat coming off her body, to smell his soap on her skin. She was sexy as hell, but this night wasn’t supposed to be about sex. He let go of the door, but he didn’t back up, didn’t fall back down the hallway and put some space between them. Instead he got closer—and damned if she didn’t help him. She moved toward him in a sweet collision. Her breasts crushed against his chest, her thighs pressed against his. All those layers of clothes couldn’t keep him from remembering what she’d felt like naked in his arms.
And wanting a repeat.
Keeping his hands off her was impossible. So he clasped a hand around the back of her neck, tracing the soft skin, loving how the small tendrils of hair clung to his fingers as he drew her closer. She made a small, throaty sound, tipping her head back against the door, and he was lost.
He covered her mouth with his and kissed her. She was warm and soft and, as his tongue tangled with hers because she kissed with as much certainty as she did everything else, he felt the strangest sense of coming home. They’d kissed before, dozens of times, during their one post–Star Bar night, but the reality was even better than his memories. She slid her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, grabbing his shirt and palming the back of his head.
He wanted her, every stubborn, prickly and sensuous inch of her.
Never mind they were both leaving and he probably had no business touching her without admitting to his part in her unwelcome nickname. Or that he’d brought her here because she was sick and alone, which made kissing her a bastard move. Instead of stopping, though, he deepened their kiss, tasting mint and Mia. Damn it. Toothpaste shouldn’t be such a turn-on. She shouldn’t be because, well, there was still no future for them besides another night or three. Although, right now, the need for sex was almost enough.
