Rough Rider (Hot Cowboy Nights, #2)(58)

“Shit. So f*cking good. Can’t hang on,” he groaned, driving into her again and again until a swell of sensation erupted. He squeezed his eyes shut on a groan, spending himself inside her in an explosive climax. Janice’s body still quivered with aftershocks, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You OK, Red?” Dirk asked softly.

“Yes,” she whispered. “More than OK.”

Her expression brought a lump into his throat. He withdrew, physically depleted and mentally confused after a release that no amount of jacking off ever could have satisfied.

He’d sworn not to let sexual frustration interfere with business, but all that went out the window almost the moment she’d walked into his kitchen. He’d thought he could hold himself in check, but he couldn’t even be in the same room with her without wanting her.

Hell, she’d only come out for a job. He didn’t even want to think about how many acts of sexual harassment he’d just committed. He didn’t have a clue how to deal with himself—or with Janice. He jerked his jeans up and turned to the sink, feeling like the lowest kind of predator for taking advantage of her.

He wet a towel with hot water for Janice, but when he turned back, his breath seized in his throat. She was buck naked and propped up on her elbows, hair tangled, face flushed, torso smeared with blueberry syrup, and a slow, shy, sexy-as-hell grin on her face. The vision jolted him to the core.

She looked down at herself and shook her head with a chuckle. “You sure made a real mess of me—inside and out.”

He was on her in two steps, marauding her mouth in a ferocious kiss that left them both reeling. He released her just as abruptly. “This towel ain’t gonna cut it, Red. You need a shower.”

“I couldn’t agree more, but I’m feeling kinda sorry for those hungry cows.”

“Another half hour won’t kill them,” he grunted.

“A half hour? I can shower in ten minutes.”

“I don’t think so. Blueberry stains. You’re gonna need some help cleaning all that syrup off. It’s dripped all over your back too.”

“So you’re offering to scrub my back?” Janice’s smile grew, stretching to heart-stopping proportions.

“Hell, I made the mess. Least I can do is clean it up properly.”

“You are such a hypocrite!” She laughed. “If I recall, all this began when I tried to clean up your mess.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. I manage my own messes. And believe me when I say I’ve had plenty of experience at it,” he added dryly.

“Haven’t you ever let anyone else take care of you?” she asked, suddenly serious.

“No. Never had to. I manage.”

“But we all need help sometimes,” she argued.

“And that’s why you’re here,” he answered back. “I need help with the ranch…and now you need help getting that syrup washed off.”

Before she could open her mouth to argue further, he swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the bathroom. She looked down at his chest with an expression of mock dismay. “Now there’s syrup all over you too. Guess you’ll have to join me? You wash my back and I’ll wash yours?”

“You mean scratch,” he corrected gruffly, using his elbow to nudge the bathroom door open.

“Doesn’t fit the situation.” She grinned back at him.

He set her down, jerked back the curtain, and turned on the shower. He waited for the water to heat up and then handed her a bar of soap. “Get in.”

“You are too bossy by far, Dirk.”

“I can get away with it because I am the boss. Now get in.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Already did.” He grinned. “And now I’ll wash you off.”

“How do you expect to accomplish that without getting all wet?”

“I’ll manage. Now get in the goddamn shower.”

Janice crossed her arms over her chest with a scowl. “Only if you join me. It’s only fair.”

“Fair?” He shook his head in growing irritation. “Look, Red. There’s a big f*cking difference here. You’re not missing body parts.”

“Seems to me you still have all the ones that count.”

Dirk didn’t trust himself to answer that. Instead, he pushed her toward the shower and spun toward the door. “Come on out when you’re done. We’ve got work to do.”

*

Janice stared after him once more feeling hurt and bewildered. Until she’d suggested he undress, their exchange had been light and playful. Then he’d suddenly stormed out.

She didn’t understand at all until she pulled back the curtain and saw the seat and metal bar on the wall—a handicapped equipped shower. It was only then that it sunk in that he wasn’t really rejecting her. He was embarrassed. Dirk was so strong and able that it hadn’t even occurred to her that he’d be so self-conscious about his injuries.

She tied up her braid, stepped under the hot water, and briskly scrubbed herself. He’d made love to her almost fully clothed. She now understood that was intentional as well—he didn’t trust her. The thought both saddened and angered her, but trust was a two-way street. Sure he’d been through a lot, but he didn’t have an exclusive patent on pain and suffering. He had scars he was reluctant to reveal, so did she. Hers just weren’t as visible.