Out Of The Blue (The Wrong Bed #12)(32)

"Well, how about I don't look at you at all?" He touched her then, slid his hands up her arms, then back down until just their fingers were connected. Slowly he pulled her close in a hug devastatingly easy and warm. "There." He buried his face in the soft, vulnerable spot beneath her ear. "I can't see you. Does that help?"

He was teasing her, still smiling. Hannah could feel him against her skin, and there was no way she could turn him away. "Fine. Stay." As if it didn't matter, she shrugged, went into her bedroom and shut the door.

Then she sat on her bed and stared at that shut door, her body and mind at war as to what they wanted from the man on the other side of it.

*

Hours later Zach came awake to a low cry from the bedroom, followed by a soft thud. He was off the couch and through the door before he came fully conscious, hitting his knees on the floor in front of the thrashing lump by the bed.

"Hannah." She was flailing wildly in the dark, trapped in the blanket, which had fallen with her. "Hold still, I've got you." It took him a moment to free her, but when she did, she surprised him, leaping to her feet.

There was no light, only the faint moon, so he couldn't be certain, but it seemed as though she was standing over him, chest heaving, glaring with fury.

At him. "Hannah?"

She shoved back her hair, her breathing ragged, and he reached out and flipped on the light.

He immediately wished he hadn't. She'd obviously had a nightmare. Her shirt was soaked through, plastered against her skin, which was shiny and lustrous. Her thighs, the ones he'd just been dreaming about having wrapped around him, quivered, and she hugged herself, all while shooting him with those mental daggers.

"You," she said.

"Yes, me." He was still on his knees, unable to take his eyes off the incredible sight she made standing over him. Her full breasts were thrust up by her crossed arms. And from his low vantage point, he could see just a peek-a-boo hint of white panties beneath the hem of her shirt. "A bad dream?"

"Not a bad one, no." Again, she shoved the hair out of her eyes, then dragged in a deep breath. She continued to glare at him as she moved past him, affording him a fantastic view of her perfect rear end.

Then the bathroom door slammed behind her, making him blink. "Hannah?"

"You sleep naked," came her accusing voice.

Yes. He hadn't thought about that when he'd raced into the bedroom thinking something was seriously wrong.

"I'm taking a shower," she called out grumpily. "A cold one."

Ah. He got it now, and pleased, he let out a low laugh. "You had a sexual dream. About me."

"Don't let it go to your head," he heard her mutter, then the shower blasted on.

He stared at the closed door. Oh, he'd let it go to his head all right.

She still wanted him.

Denying them both because of an elusive future they couldn't control seemed so wasteful. Surging to his feet, he moved toward the bathroom and knocked softly.

No answer.

Not a "go away," but not exactly an invitation either. His fingers played with the handle, which turned easily in his hand.

She hadn't locked the door.

He stared down at it, and finally decided that he'd take that as his invitation.

*

Hannah lied. The water was hot, hot, hot and she stood there beneath the spray of the shower, trying to blank out her mind.

It wasn't working.

All she could think about was Zach; how he made her laugh, how he made her feel alive, vibrant. Sexy.

As she soaped up, the water pounded over her icy skin, chasing away the shivers and warming her until she felt languid, almost lazy. As she soaped, her hands running over the body she washed every single day, she felt … different.

Sexy. Damn that man anyway, because now all she could think about was making love with him. And making love with Zach was incredible. He was wild and hot, and yes, outrageously sensual. But far more important, somehow in spite of all the sizzle and heat, they'd managed to connect on a deeper level.

Heart and soul.

Sighing, she cranked up the hot water all the more and closed her eyes.

Heart and soul.

Wasn't that just the problem?

She heard the bathroom door open one nanosecond before the shower curtain slid aside.

"That's not a cold shower," Zach said.

She shrieked and went to cover herself, but before she could do that, he stepped into the shower, crowding her with his body, his piercing eyes, his voice when he leaned over her, pinning his arms on the tile on either side of her.

"Tell me to leave," he said. "And I will, right now. But look me in the eyes when you tell me, so I believe you, because what I believe is that we belong here, together, for as long as we can make this work."

It wasn't easy to think past the fact that he was completely naked, as was she, and now all those rough and ready muscles were hard and glistening, his skin sleek and smooth and hotter than the water that cascaded over his shoulders and back. "You believe … what?"

"I want you," he clarified, looking fierce and primitive, his eyes narrow and glittering. "And you want me."

"No, the other," she managed, forcing herself to look into his eyes. "The part about belonging together."