Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,12
his raw masculinity when that was the last thing he needed. Damn, this guy was Greek-god handsome, just not sculpted in gray, cold marble. There wasn’t one part of him that wasn’t tanned, bronzed, and tantalizing. Blond highlights glinted at his forehead. He hadn’t gotten sunburned from that long swim, and neither did he sport a farmer’s tan. There simply wasn’t one lily-white patch on him. But all that rugged skin still needed attention. She could see that clearly now. The saltwater he’d swum through had taken its toll.
“Come on. Let’s get out of this shower. Then breakfast and back to bed with you, Mister.” That she could do.
“Yeah,” he growled reluctantly, one hand raking over his head. “Guess that’d be smart.”
“Yes,” she answered brightly, her eyes tracking the seductive way his bicep bulged when he lifted that arm. The thick veins running up to his armpit. The broad, hair roughened width of his chest. Ropes of veins stretched there as well, all signs that this man was used to carrying heavy loads. “B-b-but first…”
And she was back to stuttering like a little girl who’d never seen a naked man before. Which Persia hadn’t, at least not one like Hotrod. “Shampoo and s-s-soap. Lean over. You’re taller than me. I can’t reach all of you.” And I’m afraid if I touch what I can reach, we’ll never get out of this shower.
He eased to the other side of the stall while he watched her pour a goodly sized dollop of golden shampoo into her palm. Then, leaning into her, Hotrod bent over and let her suds his head. She traded the shampoo for body wash, and damn-n-n-n-n. The slick, wet sensation of her fingers on the hard-as-rock ridges and the squared-off planes of his body set her heart to jackhammering again. Yup. She was in trouble.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He had to know she was turned-on again by the way she kept soaping his muscled, and wow, strong arms. His biceps and elbows came next. His underarms. His ribcage. Then the curve of his waist and the angular jut of his hipbones. By the time she was through scrubbing everything but his manhood, Persia needed a really c-c-cold shower.
Instead, she jerked her head at the spray and told him, “Rinse,” before she fell to her knees and worshipped this stranger.
As if he lived to obey, Hotrod stepped under the shower spray, skimming one quick hand over his head, the rest of him naked and wet and so damned edible.
Oh. Be. Still. My. Foolish. Stupid. Heart. Persia lifted a hand to her mouth, pretty sure she was drooling, and just as certain she’d sighed out loud at the sight of all this raw masculinity. Nude. In. Her. Shower.
God was great!
When the last soapy suds circled the drain, Hotrod turned to face her. Like some courtly knight of old, he held out a hand, as if she were someone important. Swallowing hard before she fainted, Persia took that gentlemanly hand and stepped gracefully out of the enclosed stall.
Life threw curve balls sometimes. Until recently, she’d been a tough FBI investigator, then just as tough a CIA Officer. She’d brought thugs across the world down, and she’d brought them down hard. Lace and drama had never been her schtick. The baby doll she’d been given as a child had only survived in family photos, and then, without its head. Rifles and pistols, yes. Her favorite color was gunmetal gray, not pink. She drove a mean four-wheeler back on her dad’s cotton fields in Mississippi. She’d never once in her life felt graceful nor queenly. Yet Hotrod did that to her. Just by being himself.
Two towels hung over the bar at her left. Only when she stepped out of the shower and into the light, did she see the red chafe marks under his chin and around his neck.
“You’re hurt,” she whispered, reaching for his shoulder.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“No, you’re not. Are these abrasions from your scuba gear straps?”
“More like from two days of hard swimming.”
“I’ve got just the thing.”
That earned her a wry smile as his gaze slipped down her body to her toes. “Yes, you do, princess, but can I please grab a bite of that breakfast and a quick nap first?”
Hotrod was tired, but still all-male. He also intended to stay awhile longer than she’d expected. Morning was looking up. Her face broke into one of those silly, happy emoticons.
“You bet. Food first, then three days in bed.” Persia