Sean ran his fingers through Catherine's silky hair. The strands slid between his fingertips as he massaged the conditioner in, working slowly and gently to untangle the knots. But he was only half paying attention to her hair. As she'd relaxed into the warmth of the water, she'd leaned back and closed her eyes. One long, pale leg lifted out of the water, and she flexed and pointed her soapy foot in the air.

He stared at her leg, imagining what it would feel like to have it wrapped around him. How soft the skin would feel under his hands and lips and how her toes might curl in the heat of the moment. Images flashed through his mind, and he felt the blood rushing into his groin.

​​

With a groan, he tore his eyes away and looked down at her hair. Her eyes flew open, and her leg splashed back into the water, hidden by the foamy bubbles. He cursed himself for putting so much gel in the bathwater. If only there hadn't been so many bubbles.

He bit his tongue hard and shook his head. No woman had ever had such a strong effect on him, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to break her trust and touch her. Once he started, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop until he was satisfied.

He reached for the showerhead and tested the water temperature with his hand before running the water over her head. She closed her eyes, and a small, gentle smile played about her lips. Abruptly, he stopped the water and strode out of the room.

"Sean?" she called, her voice was gentle and tempting.

"You have five minutes to wash," he said. "And then I'm coming back in there."

She didn't reply, but he heard gentle splashing and then the running water of the showerhead. He imagined the water running through her, caressing her legs, stomach, breasts, and elegant hand along her body with the soap's slickness on her skin. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood and paced the room. Thoughts like that were dangerous—he could only deny himself for so long.

He crossed to the window and pressed his head against the cool glass pane. With his eyes closed, he forced himself to remember the day's events. The panic he'd felt when Geoffrey called him. The relief when he'd seen Catherine sprinting like a mad woman across the tarmac. The sickness and rage when Glen grabbed her and hit her. He smiled to himself—he'd known she was feisty, but seeing her bit and kick at Glen—a man over twice her size had been surprising.

Another image rose in his mind. Catherine—all pale curves and dark hair—tied to the posts of his bed, biting and clawing at him like a wild animal. Would she be as fierce in bed as she was in real life? He felt his dick twitch, and he pressed his forehead harder against the glass.

"Are you ready?" he called, walking back towards the bathroom.

Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door and found her standing in the tub. She had a fluffy white towel wrapped around her, but it barely covered the tops of her thighs. He forced himself to look away from her legs and stared at her shoulders. He imagined nibbling them and biting down on them—her cries of passion and—

"Sean?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

"You shouldn't have tried to stand on your own," he said.

Looking past her at the fleur de lis pattern on the wallpaper, he lifted her out of the tub.

"Stop that," she complained. "I'm still wet. Your suit will be ruined."

He ignored her and carried her into the bedroom, putting her down on the bed. Her towel slipped as he moved her, exposing the top of a pale round breast. She moved hurriedly to pull the towel back up, and he turned his back and marched into the bathroom for a hairdryer.

***

The warm air from the blow dryer caressed Catherine's scalp like a summer breeze. She had tried to tell Sean that he didn't have to dry her hair, but he'd insisted. Finally, he switched the dryer off, and she shook out her hair, feeling the soft, silky strands rub against her back and bare shoulders.

He strode into the bathroom, and she quickly tightened the towel around her—worried he wouldn't give her any privacy to finish drying herself. He reappeared with a large fluffy towel, and she shook her head.

"I can dry myself," she said quickly. "My ankle is sprained—not broken."

"Suit yourself," he said. With a sigh, he turned his back to her.

Slowly, she stood, balancing most of her weight on her good ankle. She dried herself quickly, blotting the remaining water from her skin before looking around nervously—Sean hadn't brought her anything to put on.

"Umm, Sean," she said, wrapping the damp towel around her body again. "You forgot the pajamas?"

He sighed and disappeared into the closet. Moments later, he reappeared with two silky scraps of fabric. He handed them to Catherine and then turned his back again. She examined the pajamas he'd given her, lace-trimmed silk shorts in powder pink and a matching camisole with thin straps. She struggled to pull the shorts on, almost falling over, and then pulled the top over her head. The pajamas left little to the imagination.

"Are you decent?" he asked.

She looked down at the skimpy pajamas, "Not really."

He chuckled and turned to look at her. A fierce light flashed in his eyes, and she looked away, embarrassed.

"We need to change the bandages," he finally said, his voice husky. "The cuts will get infected."

She sighed and nodded, and he returned with scissors, some gauze, and antiseptic. He worked carefully, cutting away the soggy bandages and cleaning the wounds. Every time she winced, he would stop and look up at her. Finally, he finished wrapping the clean gauze around her hand and kissed her wrist before letting her go.

"Go to sleep," he said. "I'm going to shower—don't wait for me."

She nodded. She hadn't been planning on waiting for him anyway. If she was asleep when he got out of the shower, he was less likely to try something. She slid under the covers and let her head settle into the down pillow. From the bathroom, she heard the shower's sound, and she imagined it was a nice, warm rain. As tired as she was, she couldn't sleep.

She heard the water stop, the click of the bathroom door, and his soft footsteps as he crossed the room. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly as if she was asleep, waiting to feel him slide into bed. His strong arms pulled her against him, and she tried not to tense. Warm lips brushed the side of her neck and the top of her shoulder, and she shivered.