I closed my eyes and tried to think about anything other than the fact that he was naked just fifteen feet away, water running down that gorgeous body of his. But my traitorous brain kept supplying helpful images, and I had to shift uncomfortably as my cock thickened and my jeans grew tighter.
“Get it together, Hayden,” I muttered to myself.
The bathroom door opened but Diego didn’t come out. In fact, the water was still running. I figured it must not have latched and tried to ignore it. But then my brain got to turning, and I wondered if he’d think I was peaking at him or trying to get inthere while he was showering. I wasn’t sure I’d survive his relentless teasing. No, better to just close it properly so there was no suspicion.
I stood up and walked over to the bathroom door, reaching out to push it closed. But as my hand touched the wood, I found myself frozen in place.
Through the gap in the doorway, I could see Diego in the shower. The glass was fogged with steam, but not enough to hide the outline of his body. Water cascaded down his broad shoulders, over the planes of his chest, following that trail of dark hair down his flat stomach to where?—
Oh fuck.
I should have looked away. Should have closed the door and walked back to the bed like a decent human being. Instead, I stood there like a creep, watching as he ran his hands through his wet hair, muscles flexing as he moved. The steam made everything hazy and dreamlike, but I could still make out every gorgeous detail of his body.
His cock was thick and uncut, hanging heavy between his thighs as he reached for what I assumed was soap. I bit back a groan as he began washing himself, those large hands moving over his skin with casual familiarity. When he turned slightly, giving me a view of his ass, I had to grip the doorframe to keep from making a sound.
This was wrong. This was so fucking wrong. But I couldn’t make myself move, couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of Diego Mendez naked and wet and absolutely perfect.
He turned again, facing more toward the door now, and I got a full view of his cock as he washed. It was even thicker than I’d imagined, and long too. My mouth watered at the thought of?—
“You gonna keep staring, or you gonna join me?”
My heart stopped. Diego was looking right at me through the steamed glass, a knowing smirk on his lips. I stumbled backward, heat flooding my face.
“I wasn’t—I was just—the door was open,and I thought?—”
“Hayden.” His voice was low, rough with something that made my knees weak. “Come here.”
“No, I should—I need to—” I was backing toward the bed, panic and arousal warring in my chest.
The water shut off. A moment later, Diego stepped out of the shower, water still dripping from his hair, his skin glistening. He didn’t reach for a towel. Instead, he walked toward me, completely naked and completely unashamed.
“I said come here,” he repeated, his dark eyes locked on mine.
I shook my head, still backing up until my legs hit the edge of the bed. “Diego, I didn’t mean to. We can’t—I can’t?—”
He stopped just inches away from me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his damp skin. Water droplets clung to his chest hair, and I had to fight the urge to lean forward and lick them off.
“Is this what it’s come to?” he asked, water dripping off him and onto my clothing. He was so close. “You do nothing but snark and snipe at me every time we’re together, but then I catch youwatchingme in the shower?”
“I told you, it was an accident?—”
“Bullshit, Hayden,” he growled, the sound sending a shiver through my entire body. “You think I haven’t noticed how you look at me? How you’re always sneaking glances when you think I’m not looking? Or the way you blush constantly? Iknowyou’re at least a little interested.”
“I am not!” I barked. “I don’t want anything to do with you! You’re cocky and stupid and annoying and… and?—”
He leaned in closer, the heat of him surrounding me.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” he said quietly, his hand coming up to cup my chin. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.”
My breath caught in my throat. His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, and I felt my resolve crumbling like a sandcastle at high tide. I should have pushed him away. Should have told him exactlywhat he wanted to hear—that I didn’t want him, didn’t think about him constantly, didn’t wake up hard every morning thinking about those dark eyes and that cocky smile.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, I stood there frozen, heart hammering against my ribs as water dripped from his hair onto my shirt. His skin smelled like hotel soap and that cologne he always wore, warm and masculine and intoxicating.
“I...” I started, then stopped, my voice barely a whisper. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” His other hand came to rest on my hip, fingers splaying across the fabric of my jeans. “Can’t want me? Or can’t admit it?”
