(it wasn’t a slam, dammit) and stripped off her nasty clothes, dropping them into the laundry chute.
Why? Of all the endless males in the world, why was it Santiago who set her on fire?
He was stubborn and arrogant and maddeningly impulsive and . . . so deliciously gorgeous and unapologetically male she didn’t have a chance in hell of resisting, she grudgingly admitted, stepping into the shower and turning on the water.
In the distance she could hear the muffled sound of Santiago’s voice as he spoke on his cell phone, relaying what he’d learned to the Anasso.
Styx would no doubt be aggravated by her refusal to confess all that she knew, but he would do his duty. It’s what a leader did, no matter what their personal feelings.
Stepping beneath the flow of warm water, Nefri thankfully washed away the clinging stench of the swamp, shampooing her long hair before reaching for the soap. Just as her fingers closed around the bottle, the door to the shower was pulled open and a naked Santiago stepped into the large stall.
“Let me,” he murmured, easily removing the bottle from her hand.
“I’m not finished,” Nefri hissed in shock, her gaze lowering against her will to take in Santiago’s hard, perfectly chiseled body.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely against her will, she admitted with a jolt of excitement.
He was . . . magnificent.
Like an exquisite work of art.
The water poured over his bronzed skin, plastering the long raven hair to the smooth muscles of his chest and glistening on the lean beauty of his face.
How was she supposed to resist the temptation to run her fingers, and then her lips, down that sleek male form?
Easily scenting her sharp burst of arousal, he squeezed a dollop of soap into his palm and smiled with a sinful promise. “Good, then I can wash your back,” he offered.
She struggled to think clearly. “I can wash my own back.”
“You were the one who said we had to share.”
“These rooms, not the shower.”
His lips twitched. “Conservation is always a good thing, isn’t it?”
She allowed her gaze to be snared by the dark hunger that smoldered in his eyes. A stupid mistake. Suddenly she understood what it must feel like to drown. The choking heat, the sluggish lack of coordination, the quivering sense something momentous was about to happen.
And worse, she couldn’t find the intelligence to care.
“Santiago . . .”
“Turn around, cara,” he prompted, his voice thick.
This is dangerous, she told herself. She should shove him away. It wasn’t as if she were some helpless female who didn’t have the strength to take care of herself.
But for the first time since becoming clan chief, she felt like a woman.
A woman with needs.
A woman who ached for a man’s touch.
No, she abruptly corrected herself, not just a man’s touch.
Santiago’s touch.
Only his.
Banishing the voice that warned she was about to make a decision that would alter her life forever, Nefri slowly turned, offering him her back.
Why shouldn’t she indulge her needs just this once?
Every other clan chief managed to have a robust sex life and function as a leader. Being a control freak didn’t mean she had to take a vow of chastity.
Did it?
“Ah, the mark of Cú Chulainn,” he murmured, referring to the tattoo of a dragon that flowed down her back. It revealed that she had gone through the battles of Durotriges to earn the title of master. Clan chief. “Very sexy.”
“Sexy?” She frowned. Most vampires found the mark a source of intimidation, not arousal.
“Relax, Nefri,” Santiago murmured, his lips tracing the outline of the tattoo even as his clever fingers began to soap her back. “I promise this is going to be magic.”
“Magic?” She closed her eyes, forcing her rigid muscles to ease. “Are you always so confident in your ability to please a woman?”
His lips shifted to the base of her neck, his hands skimming down the curve of her waist.
“Confident in us,” he corrected her, his fangs scraping over her tender skin. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel the explosive chemistry between us. It’s . . . magic. There’s no other word.”
She made a choked sound, her head tilting to the side in an unspoken invitation.
It was magic.
Enchantment at its most primitive level.
“It’s been . . . a long time,” she admitted, unsure why she needed him to know.
“Then let me take care of you,” he whispered against her skin, his hands trailing around her waist before gliding up to cup the fullness of her breasts. “Tonight you don’t have