“I agree.”
“Good. Then don’t touch me again.”
“Fine,” he said, but was vaguely aware that her dictate irritated him. “The water’s getting cold.” He nodded to the tub. “Take your bath.”
Lucia looked at the water and then at him. “And where will you be while I bathe?”
Alex started to feel slightly less irritated. “I’m staying right here.” Watching was not touching. He strode to the bed and, crossing his arms, lay back, resting his shoulders against the wall.
Lucia shook her head. “You can’t stay.”
“Lucia, I’ve seen you naked before.” His eyes slid over her in blatant perusal, and she pulled the sheet tighter.
“That was different, and it was days ago.”
“You think I’ve forgotten what you look like?” She frowned and bit her lip, apparently at a loss for words. He liked her speechless—liked it even more when he’d made her so. It was no use. All her dictates and his resolutions were for nothing. They were going to make love. It seemed an established fact, something neither could control or decide. It would happen.
And he needed her tonight. Needed her innocence and her openness. With Lucia he could forget the world he lived in—the rank deceit and betrayal, the murder and ruthlessness. With her he was the man he wanted to be, not the man he so often played. He could almost forget his cynicism and believe in love. Sitting forward, he reached out and took her hand, pulling her to him.
“I haven’t forgotten, you know. I remember the little mole you have on your hip here.” His hand caressed her hip lovingly. When he looked up, she was watching him intently, her pupils wide. His hands skimmed over her stomach, and he felt her shiver. Her arms were still crossed over her breasts, so he stroked her shoulders. “And the color of your nipples, pink like the dress you wore that night.” Lucia swayed as his hands descended. “And the inside of your thigh—” His hands were creeping up her thighs, and she jumped.
“Stop!” She sounded breathless. “I believe you remember.”
“Good.” He grinned. “Now get in the water.” He gave her a little push toward the tub.
“Are you going to watch?”
“Oh, yes.”
Her face flooded with color.
“But—but—”
“But?” he said coolly.
She seated herself regally beside him. “I think you should go first,” she announced.
He arched a brow. “The water is clean and warm now. You should go first.”
“Thank you for the courtesy, but I’ll wait.” She jerked her chin.
He shrugged. “Very well.”
Standing up, he quickly undid his shirt and tossed it on the bed next to her. He felt the strength and heat of her gaze on him. He continued to face away from her as he reached for the buttons to his trousers, but when he began to unfasten them, he tossed her an invitation over his shoulder. “Would you like me to turn around?”
“No,” she said quickly, looking away. “Of course not.” She swallowed hard, looking at everything but him. “I will—I—I’ll lie here and rest!” She smiled. “When you are done, let me know, then I’ll bathe.” She flopped down and closed her eyes tightly.
Alex smiled. Her response to him hadn’t changed. She wanted him, and his own desire had begun the moment he’d seen her again in the Pools’ garden. She was like a drug, subtly addicting him, until, before he knew it, he was craving her. He could not exist without her.
He removed the rest of his clothing, and though she must have heard the rustle, she kept her eyes firmly shut. But when he put one toe in the water, splashing purposely, her eyelids opened just a crack. He grinned.
Alex lowered himself into the tub, flexing his arms as he did so. He heard her take a long, shaky breath.
Moving slowly, aware she was watching him, he waited for her to give in.
The tub was small, and his knees barely fit. He had to pull them up almost to his chest, and the water slipped out of the tub as he dunked his head under. When he came up, he slicked his wet hair back.
She was watching him unabashedly now, apparently having forgotten to feign sleep. As he reached for the soap on the floor, he turned to look at her. She snapped her eyes shut.
