Oops. She had forgotten about the silly bit of lingerie. A hint of pink warmed her icy cheeks.
Without waiting for an answer, he lifted her again and set her in the shower under the hot spray. Tiny pinpricks of pain covered her body where the water pounded her like knives, and Lily moaned.
“Sorry,” he muttered from outside the stall before she heard the click of it closing.
“S’okay,” she said, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes in relief. Finally, she could relax and thaw out in peace.
The shower door clicked open, and she gasped in shock, her eyes flying open.
“What are you?—?”
“Move over. I’m coming in,” Rush said from outside the stall.
Chapter Five
Matter-of-factly,he stripped off his soaked flannel and the white Henley beneath, both of which he tossed on the floor with the tattered scraps of her wedding dress.
“W-what are you doing?” she stammered.
He paused, looking at her impatiently. “Getting warm.”
Lily’s mouth snapped shut. She couldn’t help but follow his sharp movements, drawn to the hard muscles of his chest and the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his jeans. When his hands went to his belt, she squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the sounds of him removing his belt, jeans, and boots.
Oh my.
She peeked. Of course she did. She was cold, not dead. His shoulders and arms were sharp lines of smooth muscle, and the way his bare abs flexed with his movements made her eyes widen. Sheriff Sexy was indeed just that.
A hand landed on her hip, and she jumped, but he only nudged her back farther under the spray. When she wavered, dizzy from the heat and the cold colliding, his big hands clamped to her hips, steadying her. “Careful,” he murmured.
Oh. That felt nice.
It should’ve been awkward, being nearly naked with a man she barely knew, but she was too cold to care. His hands were large, palms rough against the soft flesh of her hips, dark hair dusting the backs. They were undeniably masculine hands. Something long dormant twitched to life as she stared at them against her much paler skin.
“I’m okay,” she managed. Her body was thawing, but her teeth still chattered uncontrollably. A violent shiver swept through her, but at least she felt something besides frozen.
An arm slid around her waist, firmly guiding her against a chest dusted with dark hair. She sank against him, grateful again for the strength and heat. They stood under the steamy spray for a few long moments until he shifted. She made a faint sound of protest and followed his heat instinctively.
“Shh,” he murmured, holding her hip to steady her while he leaned over the taps again. “Turning the heat higher. Didn’t want to scald us until we could feel the temperature.”
She caught a glimpse of his back flexing and tight black jockeys before he turned back. Warmth, unrelated to the hot water, curled low in her stomach, taking her by surprise. Residual adrenaline, probably. They had nearly frozen to death out there. Her body was overcompensating.
He settled her against him again, his arms loosely around her waist while the steam curled lazily around them, thickening the air.
Ah. Nice.Something like contentment filled her as she absorbed the heat from his body, and she took as deep of a breath as she could in the tight corset and burrowed closer to his heat.
Gradually, her skin stopped screaming, and new sensations crept in, sharp and impossible to ignore in the tight space of their bodies. The faint rasp of his breathing. The dusting of dark hair on his chest tickled her cheek and made her want to turnher face in. The steady thud of his heartbeat echoed through her, a solid, rhythmic pulse that seemed to anchor her in this surreal moment. His hands against her hips were firm, radiating a heat that penetrated her and slid down, low and thick, like warm honey throughout her body.
Good Lord, what was going on with her? Was she so sex-starved she was imagining things?
Cool gray eyes met hers when she looked up to find him studying her just as intently. Wet black hair curled over his brow. A high forehead and angular cheekbones looked almost sinister in the flickering shadows, making her shiver involuntarily. His square jaw was covered in dark bristles, his mouth firm and unsmiling under a dark mustache as he met her eyes with that serious gaze. She shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold or adrenaline this time.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She knew she must look a mess. Her hair hung half up and half down around her shoulders, and her makeup must be running. She started to pull away self-consciously and then stopped.
“I can’t get this off without help,” she said shyly, pointing at the merry widow. “I’m sorry to be a pain. It’s one of those old-fashioned ones, and I can’t reach…” She trailed off in embarrassment and looked down, aware that the corset boning was making her already large breasts push up almost indecently.
There was no help for that. The curse of being a Hart woman—every one of them endowed whether they wanted it or not. As a classically trained ballerina, she’d cursed her boobs more times than she could count. They made it hard to find costumes, and her leotards all had to have special supportive cups sewn in.
The white lace was almost transparent now that it was soaked, and her pink nipples were as plain as day, poking likediamonds against the delicate fabric. She looked up with another apology on her lips and stopped abruptly.
