lets
them clatter to the tile floor. Pausing by the vanity, he
empties his pockets—dead Blackberry, keys, wallet, the
keychain. I can only imagine what I look like in the mirror
from this angle. When he’s finished, he marches directly
from this angle. When he’s finished, he marches directly
into his overlarge shower.
“Christian!” I scold loudly—his intent is now clear.
He switches the water on at max. Jeez! Arctic water
spurts over my backside, and I squeal—then stop, mindful
once more that José is above us. It’s cold and I’m fully
clothed. The chilling water soaks into my dress, my
panties, and my bra. I’m drenched and I cannot stop
giggling.
“No!” I squeal. “Put me down!” I swat him again,
harder this time, and Christian releases me, letting me slide
down his now soaked body. His white shirt is stuck to his
chest and his suit pants are sodden. I am soaked, too,
flushed, giddy and breathless, and he’s grinning down at
me, looking so . . . so unbelievably hot.
He sobers, his eyes shining, and cups my face again,
drawing my lips to his. His kiss is gentle, cherishing, and
totally distracting. I no longer care that I am fully clothed
and soaking wet in Christian’s shower. It’s just the two of
us beneath the cascading water. He’s back, he’s safe, he’s
mine.
My hands move involuntarily to his shirt as it clings to
every line and sinew of his chest, revealing the hair
scrunched beneath the white wetness. I yank the shirt hem
out of his pants, and he groans against my mouth, but his
lips do not lea一ve mine. As I unbutton his shirt, he reaches
for my zipper, slowly sliding the clasp down my dress. His
lips become more insistent, more provocative, his tongue
invading my mouth—and my body explodes with desire. I
tug his shirt hard, ripping it open. The buttons fly
everywhere, ricocheting off the tiles and disappearing onto
the shower floor. As I strip the wet material off his
shoulders and down his arms, I press him into the wall,
hampering his attempts to undress me. “Cuff
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