Of course she would interpret this like that. He kept his expression open, hiding how sad that made him. “Humor me?”
She rolled her eyes but dropped her arms to her sides.
All his efforts to keep his arousal at bay went to hell as he ran slick fingers over her skin. The grit of sand and sweat and the dried tears of the ocean melted beneath the water and the lather and his oh so careful touch. When he got to her waist, he braced himself for the joke he knew was coming as he dropped to kneel before her.
With a shaky laugh, she tangled her fingers in his hair. “Always wanted to get a man on his knees for me. Not exactly how I pictured it, though.”
“Disappointed?” He kept his gaze on the way the bubbles clung to her thighs as he lathered them up.
“No.”
Silence hung in the air as he finished, the space around them shrinking. The intimacy of this small act making him feel like he could stay right here. Forever.
When he nudged her hip, she turned around, and he did the backs of her legs, working not to linger too long on the curves of her ass. He moved to stand to get her shoulders, to clean the skin of her tattoo, but she stopped him, reaching to get a hand around his wrist.
“Wait.”
The bathtub floor beneath his knees wasn’t getting any softer, but she’d trusted him enough so far. The least he could do was return the favor. Resisting the urge to get up, he watched her as she sluiced the suds from her thighs. Then she turned to him and said, “Close your eyes.”
Warm water rained down on his face, wetting his hair. Her fingers moved through the strands, and his throat bobbed. He knew what she was doing.
Finding his voice, he said, “I haven’t forgotten how to wash myself either, you know.”
“Humor me.”
She reached over him for his shampoo.
And it was strange. In a sense, she’d been taking care of him all along, leading the way through most of their sexual encounters. But the gentle touch of her hands on the nape of his neck, sweeping up behind his ears and massaging at his scalp… it was different.
When she was done, she moved as if to shift away, but he curled his hands around her hips. For a second, he rested his brow against the softness of her belly. And he breathed.
Finally, she rubbed her knuckles beneath his jaw. “The water’s going to get cold.”
It never got cold, per se—not in this climate—but it was as good a segue as any. Keeping one hand at her side, he lifted his head and rose to his feet. He caught her face in his hand, holding her still so he could brush his lips against hers. “Thank you,” he said.
Her only response was another kiss.
They moved around each other in silence for the last few minutes of their shower. He got to wash her back after all, and she snuck in strategic touches as he soaped himself up. By the time they were done, the water had cooled all right, and after a nod of approval from her, he turned it off.
Without the shower raining down on them, the room went eerily quiet. He only had the one towel in here, so they took turns with it, neither one getting really dry, but the steamy air was suddenly oppressively wet, the dampness clinging to their bodies. They might not have had much luck with a dozen towels, if they’d had them, much less two.
She stared down the door as he finished swabbing off. “So. Are we running for it, or…?”
Oh. Right. They hadn’t stopped to grab spare clothing, either. He turned to her and stretched the towel out, waiting until she sighed and stepped into it before wrapping it around her breasts, under her arms. She took the edges and tucked them in before tilting her head at him.
They weren’t going to run into anybody, so it didn’t matter. Still, he scooped up their discarded clothes and held them in front of himself before gesturing for her to go ahead.
Sure enough, the coast was clear as they retreated to his room. While he tugged on a pair of boxers, she went to the window to turn on the fan, then flopped down on his bed, legs and arms spread out to either side.
And…
It didn’t seem too much to presume, but he still didn’t want to reach too far.
“Are you staying, then?”
She lifted her head. “Do you mind?”
“No.” The crack of light spreading its way through his ribs put pains to the understatement. Did he mind? He shook his head. “No, not at all.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jo gazed up at the ceiling for a long moment. She didn’t actually think it was about to cave in on her, didn’t think the walls were going to close in or that the world was set to shake apart. But it seemed smart to keep an eye out, just in case.
It wasn’t all that big of a deal, was it? Sleeping over in a guy’s room? People did it all the time. So what if it happened that she’d never done it on purpose before? No BFD.
She took a deep breath. It was just that she was tired, wrung out, and she didn’t feel like getting up or dealing with all the people at her house. Adam’s bed was comfortable.
And when Adam put his arms around her… it was like all the jagged pieces grinding around inside her, always spinning, always hurting—their edges dulled. Things went this tiny bit quieter in her head. And she didn’t want to let go of it quite yet.
It didn’t have to mean anything.
Except Adam was standing on the other side of the room, trying and epically failing to hide the fact that his eyes were lit up like fucking Christmas. That probably did mean something. She’d worry about that some other time.
Finally, once the silence between them had officially dragged on for way too long, Adam cleared his throat. “Do you want to, like, borrow some clothes or something?”
Probably not a bad idea. “Sure.”
The sound of drawers opening and shutting filled the space, followed by soft footfalls. The mattress dipped beneath her as he sat on the edge of the bed. He offered her a balled up T-shirt and a pair of boxers. “Sorry. They’ll probably be really big on you.”
“Whatever.” She shifted her gaze to meet his. “Wore your trunks all day, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.” He held the boxers up. “But these don’t have a drawstring.”
She accepted them and set them down beside her. “They’ll be fine. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He dipped to press a soft, brief kiss on her lips before sitting up again. Leaning back against the headboard, he nudged her with his knee until she shifted over enough for him to stretch out his legs. “You want me to look away or something while you put them on?”
“Please. I think that ship has sailed, don’t you?”
“Maybe.” His smile went warm and soft, and it set off an answering glow behind her breastbone. He resettled his legs so his foot rested against her thigh, a single point of casual contact that was anything but. “Just don’t want you to think you’re obligated to show me your breasts because I’ve seen them before.”
“Chivalrous.”
She fingered the edge of the towel where it lay stretched across her chest. The fabric was damp, which should’ve been kind of gross, but the air was warm enough she didn’t mind. Plus, the towel smelled like Adam. Hell, after using his soap and his shampoo, she smelled like Adam. That probably shouldn’t have been as okay with her as it was. After a moment’s hesitation, she dropped her hand to the side and stayed like she was.
“So,” Adam said. “Did you want to… talk? Or anything?”
“About what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He moved to run his fingers through the wet strands of her hair. “Maybe any of the hundred unusual things that have happened today.”
He didn’t specify further, though she didn’t have any doubt what he was angling for. After the tantrum she’d thrown, he had every right to demand an explanation. Only he wasn’t demanding anything, just giving her an opening in case she wanted to talk. Chances were, she could start in on chicken fights or public indecency and he’d roll with it.