She could lean down and kiss him right now. It would be so easy. A perfect lead-in. The thought circled in her mind, teasing, dancing in almost close enough to spur her into action, then retreating.
She scooped up hot water with the ice bucket, rinsed the lather out of his hair. Squeezed the water out. Connor opened his eyes. His eyebrows lifted, questioning.
She smiled shyly and squeezed conditioner onto her palm. The stuff had cost a fortune, and it was almost used up. She wasn't going to be buying hair-care products with that kind of price tag for a very long time, but what the hell. Connor was worth it. She squeezed until the tube was empty and flung it aside. "I'm going to work this stuff into your hair, and you're going to leave it on for ten minutes."
He looked aggrieved. "Ten minutes?"
"A half hour would be better," she said sternly. "I really should wrap your hair in a hot towel to help it penetrate. But I think that would be pushing my luck." She massaged conditioner into his hair.
Connor seized one of her slippery hands and held it to his face. "Wow," he murmured. "My hair's going to smell like that?"
"Yes, and you will live." She stared at the brutal scarring on his long, graceful hand. "So don't whine."
He stroked her hand, as if the conditioner were a massage oil. "I finally know the secret."
She was half-hypnotized by his caressing hands. "What secret?"
"Why your hair is so pretty." A lazy smile played over his mouth. "I always wondered how you made it so shiny and perfect. So this is how it's done. Hours in the bathroom, and sweet-smelling goop slathered all over you. I could get used to this."
Time warped and slowed even more in that silent, enchanted bathroom. The only sound was the hollow drip of the faucet plopping rhythmically into the bathtub. The room was a blur of fragrant mist.
She stared at his big, caressing hands and tried not to pant.
Connor's eyes flicked up to her face. He grinned. "You're rosy red, Erin. Are you hot? Or are you just blushing?"
"I'm hot," she said in a tiny voice. "I think it's time to rinse."
"Has it been ten minutes? Damn. Feels like ten seconds."
She had absolutely no idea. It could've been ten seconds, it could've been three hours. "At least ten minutes," she murmured.
He dropped his head into her hands with a growl of pleasure. "I feel like a sultan getting pampered by his beautiful bath attendant."
She giggled at the rush of erotic images his words provoked. Her eyes slid down the length of his body—and stopped at his groin.
He had an erection. A large erection. Not that she had much basis for comparison, but it was much larger than she'd expected.
Here it was, proof positive that if she came on to him, he wouldn't object. At least his body wouldn't. She could just reach down and… and what? Stroke him through his jeans, or would it be better to unbutton them? Her hands were goopy and wet. Maybe he would think it was vulgar and crass. Maybe he would be offended.
Or worse, amused. She was so goddamned chicken.
She rinsed his hair carefully and stood up. "Time to comb and trim," she announced. "Sit up on the edge of the tub, please."
He grimaced. "Do I have to?"
"You've come this far. Don't choke at the finish."
He lifted himself up. "You're not going to make me look like a poodle, are you?" he grumbled. "It has to be long enough for a ponytail. And all one length, for God's sake. Otherwise it drives me nuts."
"Don't worry," she said. "Trust me. I'm very good at this."
She eased her comb through his hair and fanned it out over his broad shoulders. "I'll trim it to shoulder length. That'll get rid of the split ends. Where's your part?"
He twisted around, puzzled. "My what?"
"The part in your hair," she explained. "It changes the cut."
"Jesus, this is complicated. It's wherever it happens to be at any given moment that I yank my hair back. I never really noticed."
"Oh, you are hopeless," she snapped.
She trimmed his hair with slow, methodical precision. She drew it out as long as she could, so she could linger close to him, but she finally had to straighten up and run her hands through his hair. "All done," she said. "Now for a blow-dry, and you're all set."
He recoiled. "Like hell. That's where I draw the line."
She brandished her blow dryer. "But Connor, it's just a—"
"Get that thing away from me before you electrocute us both!"
"You are such a baby." She gathered up the cut ends, dropped them in the trash basket, and hurried from the bathroom. She shoved her sticky, hair-covered bottles into her toiletries case with none of her usual anxious neatness. She was so angry at herself. All those openings, and she had just let them go by, one after the other. Idiot. Coward.
"Erin."
She turned. He leaned in the bathroom doorway, still naked to the waist. The slicked back hair accentuated the stark, chiseled beauty of his face. She sank down onto the bed. "What?" she quavered.
"This was really nice of you. Really sweet. Thank you."
"You're welcome," she whispered.
Sweet. He thought she was sweet. And nice. There it was, like an evil enchantment. She tried to swallow it, but it wouldn't go down.
People had called her that all her life. Ever since she'd been an unnaturally well-behaved little girl who tried to be perfect, and make the world harmonious for Mommy and Daddy. Since they couldn't be harmonious on their own and needed all the help they could get.
Sweet and nice. Respectful and polite and studious. Straight As, honor society, squeaky clean, pure as the goddamn driven snow.
She couldn't endure it any longer.
"Uh… Erin? Did I say something wrong?"
She looked up at him wildly. "No, of course not! I, uh, need the bathroom for a while, if you don't mind."
He nodded. The smile he gave her was so sexy, her toes curled up. She snatched her toiletries case and her nightgown, and hustled into the bathroom while she still had partial control of her face.
She squeezed her eyes shut beneath the pounding spray of the shower. She was going to have to do something dramatic to break this awful spell. Worst case scenario, he would just laugh at her.
No. Connor was brusque and hard-edged, but he wasn't cruel. If he didn't want her, it would be so painful for him to have to reject her. But it wouldn't kill them. They would both live through it.
She turned off the shower. Then again, maybe it would kill her. But even the prospect of death by embarrassment was no excuse for cowardice. She toweled off, and put on her nightgown and panties. She put her hand on the doorknob—and stopped.
She'd bought the nightgown because it was like something out of a Regency romance, gauzy and lace-trimmed and romantic. But it was so virginal. Nowhere near sexy enough to make the statement she needed to make. Neither were her white cotton bra and panties. If she wanted to go past the point of no return, she had to be bold. Once she stepped out that door, she was going to be as mute as a statue anyway. If there was a message to be sent, it had better be a nonverbal one.
She pulled off the nightgown and hung it on the hook. Peeled off the panties, folded them and refolded them. Her cold fingers were clutching the door handle when she remembered her hair. She pulled the bun loose, let it tumble around her shoulders.
She stared into the mirror. Naked, with her hair down, she might almost pass for sexy. Too bad she'd left the makeup case out on the bed. No help from that quarter. She would have to do this au naturel.
A better chance to seduce him would never come her way. And she might not be talented, but oh, was she ever motivated. She tried to take a deep, bracing breath, but no air would go into her lungs.