ALRIGHTY THEN. IGUESSwe’re not civilized. I guess we’re… something else. Something rougher, uncontrolled. A little scary.
What’s he going to do? That’s the thing keeping me on my toes as I rinse dishes with total concentration. Pretending everything’s just hunky-dory and there’s not a man behind me being… well, the worduncivilizedcertainly springs to mind.
When he doesn’t say anything else, I glance over my shoulder at that face and—oh, crap—my insides clench, my nipples go hard, and I watch, my mouth slightly open, as he unbuttons a sleeve and starts rolling it up.
Mesmerized by his quick, precise movements, I find myself turning to lean back against the sink, eyes glued to those efficient hands as he sets to work on the other sleeve.
His approach, as calm and deliberate as a hunter with his prey, makes my pulse go haywire. The closer he gets, the harder it is to catch my breath, and when he leans in…
What’s he doing? Is he going to…?
He reaches around me to shut off the water. I didn’t even realize I’d left it running. I never leave water running; it’s much too precious a resource. Expensive and limited and… “What areyou…?” My words trail off, like the last of the breadcrumbs I dropped to get us to this place have suddenly frittered away to nothing, and it’s too late anyway because I’m Little Red Riding Hood fromInto the Woods, and the Wolf is right here, and I maybe kind of asked for this. No, I definitely did. Who cares, anyway, because with Grant Bowman this close, I’m short-circuiting.
He doesn’t reply, and I guess I didn’t actually finish my thought. So what is there for him to say as he stands there, three feet away, watching me with eyes that are sometimes black, sometimes brown, and always—always—searing me from the inside out? Like a burning coal in a cold furnace, the man incinerates me without an ounce of warmth.
“We’ve got a problem, you and me,” he says, his tone so conversational that this could almost be a professional conundrum he’s come to me to solve.
“Oh?” I manage, soap-slick hands gripping the sink behind me in a way that sticks my boobs out and makes my heavy breathing obvious.
He looks down at my chest and watches a full in-and-out cycle before allowing that sharp-edged gaze to return slowly to mine.
“I think you know exactly what problem I’m referring to.” He settles into a position that’s somehow both casual and purposeful. Hands at his sides, tension in the thick, corded forearms I can’t stop staring at, his legs a little wider than they’d naturally land.
“I… I don’t…”
“The rules, Sunny.”
Everything clenches between my legshard. “The rules?”
“Don’t play innocent now.” The headshake, the cynical ghost of a smirk. This man will have none of it. Not for a solitary second. “You’re much too intelligent for that.”
He thinks I’m smart? That’s a shocker. But the complimentfeels as good as his undivided focus. Even the hint of condescension hits a pleasurable note deep inside me.
He looks down, squeezing the back of his neck, and sighs with obvious disappointment. Why, oh why, do I now feel chastised and put in my place and, incidentally, more turned on than I’ve been in my life? If the sink weren’t holding me up, I’d melt to my knees, hug his legs, and beg him to… to… for… if only…
“Turn around.” His words are all consonant. The whiplash of aT, the finalDsparking down my spine.
Yes. That. The instruction pings through me, lighting up nerves and cells like the on switch to my circuit board, and yet I can’t convince my body to move.
When all I do is stare, he releases another of those annoyed sighs and steps closer.
“Turn… the hell… around, Sunny. Now.”
I’ve never spun so fast in my life. For a blank moment, I stare at the sink, my hands floating above it like birds with nowhere to alight.
As if he knows how directionless I am, Grant guides me. “Hold the sides.”
I lean forward and put my hands against the edges, grip hard to keep from sliding… and wait.
Wait.
Wait.
“You know why the rules are there, Sunny?” he finally asks, the question a puff of warmth against the side of my head.
“I… I think so.”
“No. I don’t believe you do. If you did, you would take them more seriously.” There’s a little sound from him, half growl, half grunt, and then he’s closer, body heat giving his proximityaway. “You think it’s a game? What we’re doing here? What we did down there?”
