behind me while I’m naked and wraps his big arms around me. I rest against his chest with my head on his shoulder, skin to skin, naked body to naked body. His big fingers massage and toy with the tips of my breasts until I’m whimpering and helpless against the lust roiling through me. “I love the way you feel against me.” The low rumble of his voice vibrates deep in my core.
Oh, my Lord. I shake myself from the fantasy. My hands go to the sides of the sink in an effort to stabilize my shaky legs.
Stop. It. Tiger.
He’s not interested in me, and even if he was, I’m not interested in him. It’s clear that the only thing that matters to Cash King is his career, and I will not get involved with another man who is so single-minded in his focus that he loses sight of me.
I deserve more.
I gather up my shower supplies and put them back in the bin. I forgot to bring clothes to change into, but there isn’t anyone around, and the workers won’t be here for another ninety minutes. So I tighten the towel, open the door, and walk straight into a wall of muscle. “Oof.”
“Tiger?”
“Cash?” I stumble back a few steps. “Why are you here? And why are you in your boxer briefs?” Did I conjure him with my thoughts of naughty bathroom sex?
He seems as surprised as I am. “I … um … Are you naked under that towel?”
“Yes! I just got out of the shower! Why are you here?” I don’t know why I’m yelling. But the shock is like a steroid shot to my vocal chords.
His face loses that stunned look, and he rakes his gaze from my toes to my head, lingering on the spot where the towel connects. “Well, Kitty Cat, I own this house. Why are you naked in my bathroom?”
“I … The shower in the pool house doesn’t have any water pressure. I shower here sometimes.” I wave my other hand in the direction of his crotch. “Do you always walk around in your underwear willy-nilly?” Willy-nilly? What the hell am I talking about? “Do the rest of us a favor and put some clothes on, for heaven’s sake.”
He chuckles, and it’s like warm honey sliding over my naked skin. “Too late to play the disgusted card, Kitty Cat. I already saw you check me out.”
“I wasn’t checking out your body, I was checking to make sure you actually had anything in those briefs.” I hold up my little finger and give him a knowing look. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Aww, Kitty Cat, you kill me.”
“Stop calling me that.” I try to slide past him in the doorway to escape this awkward situation. I wrongly assume that he’ll step out of the way, but instead he only turns to the side, and I get wedged between him and the doorjamb. A flimsy piece of terry cloth and a scrap of cotton is the only thing separating us.
Several things become abundantly clear in this moment.
One, he’s so much taller than me that I feel downright dainty next to him, which is saying something since I’m five foot nine.
Two, we fit together perfectly.
And three, the pinkie finger reference to his junk is so off base that it’s laughable. How do I know? Because it’s pressed against my belly and growing larger with each second that passes.
Way. Off. Base.
“Um …” My voice has very little substance to it.
He doesn’t speak, but his expression says he’s as thrown by this turn of events as I am. I’m immediately transported back twelve years to when he held me in his arms on the dance floor in the school gymnasium. We fit together perfectly then too.
The muscle in his jaw throbs like he’s hanging onto his self-control with both hands. “Yeah. We should …”
I nod and step to my left while he steps to his right, but the space isn’t big enough for us both to move at the same time and our feet get tangled, and we begin to fall. He grabs me around the waist and picks me up before shuffling his feet to regain his balance—thank you football reflexes. But now we have a bigger problem—my towel’s come loose, and we are skin to skin. My bare breasts are smashed against his glorious chest.
And suddenly, I understand why sex is such a big deal.