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Blake felt a jolt at her command and slowly started peeling off his jacket, shirt, and undershirt. He wadded them up in his hands just as Hannah came back.
She opened up the hall closet and the washer on a small, stackable unit, tossing his clothes in. Once it was all started, she looked him over, biting her lip. “Do you want to take a shower? I imagine it soaked through your shirt.”
“If you just have a wet washcloth or something to clean up with.”
“Sure, hang on.” She squeezed past him and knelt down under the bathroom sink. Milo started whining and rattling his cage, and Blake glanced toward where the dog was watching him through the bars.
He stuck his tongue out at the dog, who barked and growled back.
“Here we go.” Before he knew what she was going to do, Hannah was running a hot, wet washcloth over his chest and stomach, the wet warmth raising gooseflesh across his skin. “I don’t know where he got you, but let me know if I miss a spot. Are you cold?”
“No, I’m fine.” In fact, his skin grew hot with every pass of that rough material, the only thing separating her hands from his bare skin. His heart pounded as he imagined her dropping the rag to the ground and running her hands over him, the soft brush of her fingers on him, touching every inch of him.
“I think that’s it. I’ll get you a towel.”
She walked away, the washcloth in her hand, and he couldn’t believe it. Here he was, sweating buckets and trying not to yank her against him, and she was acting as if she was just helping him out.
She could not be that innocent. She had to know what every sweep of that wet, rough fabric did to me.
Hannah came back with a dry, soft towel and started dabbing at his skin. Her motions slowed, and she glanced up at him, as if she was suddenly aware that he was half naked in her living room and she was cleaning him up.
Her hazel eyes wide, she started to step back. “I guess I could have let you do this.”
His hand covered hers, and he squeezed. “I like it when you do it better.”
He could practically see her pulse fluttering under the skin and had the urge to find it with his mouth, running his tongue along the column of her throat.
“Oh, boy.”
Her sweet little exclamation made him smile as he followed his instincts. His mouth covered that spot that had been teasing him, and he kissed his way down her neck until his mouth rested in the valley between her breasts, her chest heaving against his lips.
“I fucking love this dress.” He brushed his mouth against the mound of her breast, and she gasped.
“Maybe we should skip going out to dinner and just order a pizza,” she whispered.
Blake took a deep breath, trying to get ahold of himself as he brought his mouth back up to hers.
“No, I promised you a real date, and we will have one. It will just be a little later.”
“I might have something you can wear.”
Blake arched a brow at her.
“One of my dad’s T-shirts. Hang on.”
He reluctantly let her go, and she went into her bedroom. He was curious enough to follow her, looking around at the white four-poster bed and matching dresser. A cedar chest sat at the end of the bed, and several paintings graced the wall. One was of a little girl with the same coloring as Hannah cuddling an orange tabby kitten.
“My mom painted that when I was four.” Hannah held out a T-shirt. “Sorry, it’s all I could find.”
Blake held up the T-shirt, reading the front of the shirt with a grin. “Does your dad like Pomeranians?”
“It was a gag gift my mom got him when he brought home a Pomeranian puppy for my mom. He ended up taking Miggins over, and she bought him the shirt as a joke.”
Blake pulled it over his head, surprised at how long it was on his six-two frame. As he looked down at the panting Pomeranian picture on his chest, he shook his head. “Yeah, I can’t wear this out in public.”
“Then pizza it is.”
Blake had a feeling she didn’t mind staying in.
