Red-Hot Nights: Daring in the Dark

Simon set his candle on the widest portion of the sink and took the cloth from her, his fingers brushing hers in the exchange. The brief contact fired through him.

“Have you ever been this hot before?” she asked. “If I spontaneously combust, douse me with water to put out the flames.”

Simon had no idea where it came from, but he ran with his impulse. “Like this?” he asked. He stepped closer and squeezed the cloth, cascading water over her shoulder.

She gasped, whether at the shock of the cool water or at his audacity or perhaps both, and then laughed. “Oh, you …”

“Or like this?” He sent another round of droplets skittering down her back, bared by her top.

“Maybe more like this.” She reached up and squeezed her cloth at the base of this throat, sending a cool stream down the front of his T-shirt.

He laughed and retaliated. She shrieked and didn’t bother with the washcloth, cupping her hands beneath the water and tossing it his way. Within seconds they were both drenched. One of them, their aim so bad, doused the big candle. It sputtered out and ended their water play. Only the small votive flickered, plunging them into intimacy.

“Oops,” Tawny said. “That was fun.”

Her hair hung drunkenly from its clip. Water sparkled against her skin. The cold water had her nipples standing at full attention against the wet material of her shirt. Simon swallowed hard and looked her in the eyes. Just don’t look back down.

He cleared his throat. “It was fun.”

He had no idea he could be so playful. Water fights had never happened in his house. Hell, fun hadn’t happened in his house. His parents had taken their jobs and life very seriously. They still did.

She grabbed a towel off of the stack and he reached for it. She bypassed his hand and instead began to rub his wet hair herself.

“I can do that myself,” he said.

“I know.” She gentled the towel along his jaw, slid the thick, soft cotton down the column of his throat. “But there, I’ve taken care of it.”

She took a step back and, using the same towel, blotted her face. Simon held out his hand and she gave the towel over to him.

“I can do this myself,” she said, echoing his earlier declaration.

“I know.” He eased the towel over the length of her neck, across the delicate line of her collarbone, into the valley created by her breasts. Simon made sure only the cotton cloth touched her skin. He moved behind her and slowly, carefully dried her shoulders and the expanse of sweet skin along her spine. He knelt on one knee and drew the towel along her thighs, the backs of her knees, her calves.

“Turn around for me.”

She pivoted slowly and he once again slid the towel the length of her legs, the material whispering over her skin.

He stood and silently handed her the towel.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No problem.”

At least there wouldn’t be as soon as they got out of this confined space where she smelled too good, looked too good, felt too good. He picked up the candle she’d carried in. The sooner he got her to her room and put his camera between them, the better off they’d both be.

6

SHE WAS IN DEEP DOO-DOO. Something had just happened there in the bathroom, without even a kiss or an overt touch. She’d gone from mere lust to infatuation. Every inch of her knew that it was no longer a matter of if they wound up in her bed together tonight but when. He couldn’t possibly touch her with such tenderness and not want her. And while part of her was keyed up in anticipation, the knowledge also put her somewhat at ease.

Simon lit the last of the candles in her bedroom.

“I have a couple of T-shirts that are big on me. They’d probably be tight on you, but at least they wouldn’t be wet.” She fished out a shirt she occasionally slept in because it was two sizes too big. “How about this?”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll just hold on to it until you get out of that wet one.” She knew what she wanted and she was going for it. Him.

“Were you planning to watch?”

“Unless you object. A girl’s got to get her thrills where she can.”

“I’m not sure that I qualify as a thrill.”

“I’m certain you do.”

Simon tugged his T-shirt loose from his jeans and peeled it up and off his body. Sweet mercy, the man had a body to die for. Broad-shouldered, lean-hipped and nicely trim in between. She felt like Goldilocks who’d just discovered the perfect male. Oh my, that one had been too big and hairy. And oops, that one was too hairless and skinny. But, oh baby, this one was just right. And however cliché it was, she found it incredibly sexy the way that dark hair trailed past his navel and disappeared below the waistband of those jeans.

“You, Simon Thackeray, were built to thrill. I’m very … thrilled.”

He grinned. Not the arrogant smirk of an overin-flated ego but that of a man pleased to be appreciated.

“You want to toss me that shirt you’re holding on to?” he said.

She sighed audibly. “I will if I absolutely have to. Don’t feel compelled to get dressed on my account.” Nonetheless, she tossed it to him.

He caught it single-handedly and sobered. “Are you flirting with me, Tawny?”

“Yes, Simon, I am. Shamelessly.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“No. Not really. I think it’s probably a very bad idea, but I’m certainly enjoying it. How about you?” she said.

“Am I enjoying it or do I think it’s a good idea?”

“Both.”

“I have to go with you on both counts. I’m enjoying it and I’m sure it’s a bad idea.” He pulled the shirt over his head, hiding that yummy physique.

Spoilsport.

But not to worry, she planned to get it back off of him soon enough.

THERE WAS SOMETHING VERY intimate about being in her candlelit bedroom, knowing she was about to undress. “Hold on a minute. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

He sprinted back to the den, snagged his camera and was back in her bedroom within a minute. “I want to capture the moment, the anticipation, the preparation, not just the finished product.” Hell, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. In fact, he was damn near certain it was a bad idea. But no worse than being here now. And photographing her was safer than kissing her.

When he shot, he became one with the camera. He could be himself behind the lens.