Clementine smirks. “I heard something about Margarita Mondays at the Marina.”
That’s right; it is Monday. And tequila sounds like a great idea, in my opinion.
“You coming too, Griffith?” Carl grins at me, sharing the joy of his sister’s recovery.
I nod, and he claps me on the shoulder once before striding out of the room on his way to his garage apartment.
Then it’s just Clementine and me. She doesn’t immediately close the bathroom door and return to her soak. Instead, she stands on the threshold, staring up at me with a single eyebrow raised.
“You’ve got a nice bathtub in there. Big enough for a mermaid.”
Did she transform into her other shape?
What I wouldn’t give to see her in her mythic form. I wonder what color her scales are. Do they match the striking icy blue of her eyes? Are they golden, like her hair? Pink, like her hibiscus scent?
“Glad the tub worked for you. That the potion worked for you.” I step closer without thinking about the move. Just knowing that I need to check her wound again for myself. “Do you mind if I …” My hand hovers a few inches away from her abdomen.
“Go for it, Dr. Griffith.” I think she’s trying to sound mocking, but her voice is a touch breathy, and she lets out a little gasp when my fingers brush against her unmarked skin.
“Hurts?” I make to pull my hand away, but she grabs my wrist and keeps me in contact with her warm flesh.
“No. I’m just not used to having people touch me there and itnothurting.”
Our eyes meet, and heat passes between us. A tension that can’t be ignored.
“No more pain then?” I ask.
She shifts on her feet, and the cloth she’s holding over her chest slips down until I’m sure one more centimeter would reveal a nipple. “I may still have an ache or two.”
“Now, who is wooing who?”
What are we doing?That’s what I should be asking. But that might stop whatever it is, and I don’t want to free myself from the arresting torment of her presence.
“You should get back in the bath.”
“If you say so.” Clementine slides a step backward, away from me. Away from my touch. But she doesn’t make to close the bathroom door. Instead, she drops the towel that was covering her top half, and then her quick fingers undo the knot that was holding up the cloth covering her bottom. She stands bare before me.
My mind wanders down a path of distracted fascination as my inner wolf howls in want.
Clementine turns and struts back to the tub, the tight globes of her ass bobbing with each step. Teasing me. Tempting me. Driving my animal instincts to the edges of my skin. When she lifts a leg to step back into the bath, I get a glimpse of her core. The damp blonde curls that surround the heated center of her.
I’m going to go to every fucking hell in existence for thinking about what it would be like to slip into that heat.
I close the bathroom door.
But only after I’ve stepped into the room with her.
Clementine reclines in the bathtub, covered by the milky blue water now, so all I can see are the tops of her breasts and her collarbone and her fucking gorgeously frustrating face.
She watches me with hungry eyes that show no hint of hesitation or shame.
“I shouldn’t be in here,” I say.
“If you don’t want to be in here, then you should leave.”
“I didn’t say I didn’twantto. Just thought I shouldn’t be.”
Clementine’s knees appear above the surface of the water, far enough apart that I can tell her legs are spread wide. “How about this? You help me out with this final ache I have, and then you can leave, knowing you’ve been a good boy.”
