a bottle of red wine, Fin headed to the bathroom. Opening the door, he was hit with a wall of steam. Maggie clearly liked her water temperature hot. He shouldn’t be in here—in fact, she’d probably tear a strip off him for doing so—but the hell of it was, he kept visualizing her naked and wet in his shower.
She sang an old classic, if he was hearing right, so didn’t hear him. Stripping off, he dumped his clothes on top of hers, then opened the door.
Her scream had his ears ringing. “Christ, you just blew out an eardrum.”
“Wh-what are you doing?” She stood with her back against the wall, hands clutched around a bar of soap. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“You look good wet,” he managed to get out around the dryness in his throat. Really good. Her hair was longer, and darker. And it hung down to her breasts. Lovely, full, pale breasts.
“I’m nearly done, Fin.”
“I’m not.” He closed the door after stepping in and pressed his body into hers. She resisted for about five seconds. His mouth took hers in a kiss that soon turned savage. Dropping the soap, she dug her fingers into his hair and held him close.
His hands moved over her body, touching, stroking the soft wet skin. Reacquainting himself with her.
“I’ve never had shower sex,” Maggs whispered, kissing his jaw. “I’ve heard it’s the best.”
“Yeah? You must tell me how that conversation came about later.” He stroked her secret places, swallowed her moans, and drove them both crazy.
Her hands moved too, nails scraping over his chest, then lower. When her hand fisted around him, he nearly exploded.
“Now, Maggs.”
“Now,” she agreed as he boosted her up his body and drove into her wet heat. They both moaned.
“So good,” she whispered.
So good. He drove up and into her. Took her in hard, fierce thrusts until their breaths rasped. He felt the ripples start of her release and thrust into her twice more. The force of his orgasm made him shudder.
She hung in his arms, breathing rapidly, head on his shoulder.
“We didn’t use protection,” he realized.
“I’m on the pill, have been for years.” Maggie lifted her head to look at him. “It’s all right, Fin.”
“I don’t usually… I mean, I’ve never.”
“I know, but it’s okay.” She cupped his cheeks, kissing him. It was so sweet, he stayed there, water raining down on them with his lips pressed to hers for long, drawn-out seconds.
“Come on, we need to eat something.” He lowered her down his body as the water started to run cold.
Getting out, he dried himself. She followed a few minutes later. His eyes found her scar before he wrapped her up in a towel. “Does it still hurt?”
“Sometimes. It gets really tight if I exercise, which is weird, but apparently normal, and a good reason not to, right?”
“I have a scar on my spine from an old glass window I fell into. It was in the long grass near our home, on this unused lot. Hurt like hell for ages.”
“Let me see.” She moved behind him and lowered the edge of the towel he’d wrapped around his waist. “Nasty.” He felt her lips there. “All better.”
He wanted to say something then. Something about them and where they were heading, but held it inside.
“I cooked.”
“Really?” She bent to pick up their clothes and then made for the bedroom where he’d put her bag.
“I could lie and say yes, but the truth is it’s a casserole Pearl dropped off.”
“How long have they been feeding you?” She was digging through the bag she’d brought with her. Her hair was wet tangles and her shoulders pale. He wanted to press his lips to them.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You’ve been conning them with the pathetic, ‘I’m a single helpless male’ routine for years, haven’t you?”
“No comment.”
She pulled on a nightshirt that came to midthigh. It had the words Every Artist Was Just An Amateur on the front. She looked young, sexy, and so damn cute he had to turn away and look in his drawers for some sweatpants. If he didn’t, he’d put his hands on her again.
“I’m sure Ralph Waldo Emerson would be more than happy to have his words on your body.”
“I know you’re smart, I know you’ve studied art, but how come you know quotes by Ralph Waldo Emerson? He was, among other things, a philosopher.”
“My mother told me about him.”
She’d moved to the doorway. “Will you tell me about her?”
He took the slim