A game she was having way too much fun with.
So much fun, in fact, that if it went on much longer she was bound to do something really stupid.
Really, really stupid.
No.
She was done with stupid. Her marriage had been made entirely of it, after all. And look what that had gotten her. A big, ugly bruise on her face, her car in a ditch…while she hid out in a stranger’s house and tried to ignore the fact that she still needed to figure out how to deal with it all.
The frustrating thought had her forgetting all about the game she and Chase were playing, just long enough that she stood up to grab the towel before she realized what she’d done.
Stunned, she stood before him, shockingly aware of each bead of water as it slid across her skin and back down into the tub.
Chase’s green eyes dilated almost to black as he looked at her. “My God, you’re lovely, Chloe.”
She wasn’t sure he was aware that he’d said the words aloud, but the reverence in them shook her. No one had ever looked at her like that, like he’d never seen anyone or anything quite so pretty.
No. Not pretty.
Lovely.
Maybe it was the power of that one word, when up until now she’d only ever heard hot and sexy, that kept her standing there, still naked and dripping.
Waiting.
Anticipating.
Wanting.
She knew exactly what was going to come next, could practically choreograph what every single guy on earth would do in this situation. Chase was going to charm her into agreeing to have sex with him, and in the morning she’d hate him for taking advantage of her sensual weakness when her heart wasn’t at all in it. But, mostly, she’d end up hating herself.
Only, as the seconds ticked by in time with the overly loud beating of her heart, even though Chase clearly wanted nothing more than to rip off his jeans and join her in the tub, he didn’t. Even though they both knew he was big enough and strong enough to be inside of her before she took her next breath, he didn’t so much as move an inch closer.
Chloe couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t given him permission to touch her. And, amazingly, he wasn’t taking it anyway, wasn’t taking whatever he could from her just because he was bigger and stronger than she was.
A sharp pang landed right behind her breastbone, right in the center of that heart that had been so bruised and battered.
Was it possible that, for the first time in her life, she’d actually met a man who wouldn’t ever touch her, who wouldn’t even try to make a move...unless she let him? Was it actually possible that despite the intense desire in his dilated pupils and the way the muscles in his jaw were jumping at the self-control he was using to remain right where he was, Chase would never lay a hand—or his lips—on her unless she outright asked him to touch her? Could it be possible that he’d never press his lips against hers unless she begged him to kiss her, until she was ready and desperate for his touch, for his lovemaking?
Visions of that desperation shouldn’t be so clear to her, shouldn’t already be running through her mind like a sexy videotape. But they were so ridiculously clear—and potent—that it took every ounce of self-control she had to force herself to shove them away before pushing the words from her heaving lungs.
“I’ll take that towel now, thanks.”
There’d never been a less sexy statement said between a man and woman.
So then, why did she suddenly feel so breathless?
* * *
Holy hell.
Chase had done his fair share of crazy things, been party to plenty of acrobatic sex sessions.
But none of those nights had anything on seeing Chloe come in the bathtub.
And there wasn’t a single model’s body that had an ounce of the sensuality that infused every cell on Chloe’s lovely naked body.
Looking down, he realized the towel was actually shaking in his hands.
Chase worked to calm down. He shouldn’t have stayed in the bathroom. He knew that.
But he hadn’t been able to help himself. And he didn’t think she had really wanted him to leave, either.
Still, some small voice of rational thought told him he should give her the towel before she dried all on her own. He held the towel out to her and she tugged on it before lifting her eyes to his.
“Hotstuff?” He watched surprise register in her face at what she’d called him.
Hotstuff.
“You’re talking to me, right?” he asked, glad to see her give him another one of those beautiful smiles that practically knocked him over.
“It’s a good nickname, don’t you think?” Before he could answer, she reminded him, “You need to let go of the towel.”
He knew that. But, hell, he wasn’t sure he could remember how to say his own name right now. So how was he supposed to get his brain to work enough to unwrap his fingers from the cotton?
“Sorry.” And he really was sorry, especially when she quickly wrapped the large towel around herself.
“That bathtub is really great.”
He was pretty sure he looked like an idiot standing there unable to respond. He’d accidentally watched her give herself what looked to be a really great orgasm and all she had to say was that the bathtub was great?
“I’m not sure the bathtub had anything to do with it,” he finally said.
He loved the sound of her laughter, loved the fact that it sounded less and less rusty every time he heard it.
She shrugged as she walked past him, tucking the towel into place between her incredible br**sts. “A guy should never underestimate the power of a well-placed jet,” was her response as she walked up to the mirror and began finger-combing her hair.