of you.”
I did the right thing going back to Carlos. It’s like the old Chris is back. No, he’s better. “They treated us like celebrities. It was surreal.”
“We may not like Ronni, but I have to hand it to her. She knows how to make things happen.”
I run my fingers through his stiff hair. “I guess she does, but I can’t say I’m a fan of this.”
He snorts. “Me either. Mind if I shower and wash this crap out?”
I shrug seductively. “Not if you don’t mind if I come with you.”
We drop everything and quickly shed our clothes. My shower is tiny, and the curtain sticks to us every time we move. He puts his head under the water and lets me wash his hair. I’ve never washed a man’s hair. It’s so intimate. When I finish, he opens his eyes and looks at me. I swear he’s looking at me harder than he ever has before, like earlier when we were singing. He radiates strength, determination, and heat. And I wonder who he’s seeing—her or me?
He shoves me against the wall, exploring me with his mouth and tongue. He’s hard as he grinds into me. I break our kiss, laughing when I look at his erection and it jerks with needy expectation. “I’m happy to see you didn’t drink that much tonight.”
He frames my face with his hands. “Nothing is going to keep me from being with you right now.”
I palm his cock, and he inhales sharply. I stroke up and down his length, the water making him slippery. He braces himself against the wall behind me.
He cups my breast and toys with my nipple. He runs a hand down my slick body and puts his fingers between my legs. He groans as he pushes them inside me. I want him to go farther, deeper.
I spin around so I face the wall, desperately wanting him to make love to me. He pins me against the tile, kisses my neck and upper back, one hand fondling a breast and the other on my clit. I lean over as far as I can, reaching behind me to guide him inside.
He hesitates, his hands still on me. “Are you sure?”
“I’m on the pill.”
He enters me. “Jesus, Bria … this feels … oh, God, I’m not going to last long.” He circles my clit with a finger. He whispers in my ear, his hot breath and sexy words taking me higher. “Uhhhhhhh,” he cries, as he makes his last thrusts. His explosive groans vibrate through me.
Him coming inside me with nothing between us—it’s so freeing. So trusting. I lose myself in his orgasm and come.
He pulls out of me, lathers his hands, and washes between my legs. He lingers over my skin until the water turns tepid. I turn off the shower. He wraps me in a towel and helps me out of the tub. “Sit,” he says, putting down the toilet lid.
He dries himself, then, still naked, runs the towel over my hair. He carefully combs through it and stares at me for a long moment before wrapping a towel around his waist and leaving the bathroom without a word.
What just happened?
I put on my robe and follow him out. He gets his notebook and sits on my couch, writes a few words, chews on his pen, then writes a few more. I laugh silently, happy to have provided him inspiration.
I go back in the bathroom, dry my hair, and slip into bed, letting him work. Sometime later he joins me, his movements waking me.
“Was it good?” I ask.
He shimmies against me. “It’s always good.”
I giggle sleepily. “I meant the song you wrote.”
“Yeah, it’s good.”
I turn, just able to make out his face in the moonlight. “Do you remember Wednesday night?”
“Vaguely.”
“You asked me to move in with you. Do you remember that?”
He stiffens. “I … I thought it was a dream.”
“I know why you asked me.”
He skims a hand along my thigh. “So we could do this all the time?”
“You asked me because you want to protect me, right? Like you did at the club tonight. Like you always do.”
“Whatever. I was drunk.”
“I know, but I get the feeling you meant it. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to trap you. We’re not moving in together. I know why you asked, but I’m not her.”
He inches back. “What are you talking about?”
“I know about Abby. Well, not all about her. But I know she died.”
He sits up and swings his legs off the