“Plans for the afternoon?” Weston asked casually.
“A couple things I need to follow up on with Nancy. And I’ll chase the sketches from the architects if those aren’t back yet. But I currently smell like a horse, so I think I need to shower before anything.”
“I could use a shower too,” Weston admitted.
We approached the door to my bathroom. The heat of our kiss burned at the forefront of my mind, and I knew this was the moment of truth. Maybe we needed to talk things through, but didn’t they say actions spoke louder than words?
My hand shot out, locking around his before he could continue down the hall.
I looked up, locking eyes with him. “We could always shower together?”
16
WESTON
My heart pounded against my ribs, Lena’s words echoing in my head like a drum beat.
We could always shower together.
I blinked at her, certain I must have misheard. This was simply me projecting, wishing,wantingher so much that it was messing with my head, making me hear things.
She lifted her shoulder, almost shyly, as she said, “You know, save water and all that. Kincaid Energy’s all about sustainability. Maybe we should practice what we preach.”
After that, there was no way for me to see her offer as anything other than what it was, no way to miss the desire in her eyes. I caught her face between my palms again and kissed her breathless. “Aye, woman,” I growled. “Let’s save that water.”
We stumbled through the bathroom door, hands running freely over shoulders and down arms and around waists. I kicked the door closed behind me as I let my hand drift down the side of Lena’s neck, feeling her pulse flicker. I dropped my hand lower,palm pressed to her sternum, feeling that excited thrum beat even harder.
“Your heart’s racing,” I murmured.
She grinned up at me. “Isn’t yours?”
It was. I was about to burst into bloody flames. And the only thing that would quench the burn was Lena, naked and writhing in my arms.
She reached over to turn the shower on, the glass walls fogging as we undressed each other. I stroked my hand against each new strip of exposed skin, softly at first and then with more urgency. She shivered as I ran my thumb across her breast, her nipple hardening beneath my touch. When I let my hand drift down her torso, toward her hip, she giggled.
“Tickles,” she whispered.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured in response.
As she stepped beneath the water, the spray wetting her long hair, droplets clinging to her eyelashes, she was a siren, and she was singing my song.
I surged toward her, pulling her close under the heated waterfall spray.
“Hi,” she whispered, looking up at me.
“Hi. Please tell me you have something other than peach blossom- and jasmine-scented body wash for me to soap myself up with.”
“What?” she teased. “Not good enough for you? I suppose you want to smell like a misty glen or something.”
“Rugged terrain, dark leather, royal oak,” I joked. “Any of those will work.”
“I’ll get right on that, my liege.”
“You know that makes you my queen, right?”
She flushed more than she had from the heat of the water.
“We are married, after all,” I added, hoping to deepen that blush.
