Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(40)

She brushed her fingertips across his shoulder. He jerked away.

"I'm sorry. Does it still hurt?" she asked anxiously.

He shook his head. He still wouldn't meet her eyes.

She wanted to memorize every dip and curve with her hands and mouth. The scar intensified his masculine beauty, by poignant contrast.

She could lean forward right now, press her lips against his hard chest. Nuzzle that whorl of flat, dark blond hair. Take that taut male nipple between her teeth and suckle it. She took an unsteady step backwards. "Sit by the tub and lean your head back." Her voice shook.

He did so, leaning his head back and stretching his long legs out in front of him. She stepped into the tub and sat down next to him.

"I'm going to shampoo your hair first," she told him.

He lifted his eyebrows. "I just washed it."

"Not with my good shampoo you didn't." She picked up the ice bucket and poured hot water slowly over his hair. "Scoot back further so I can hold your head in my hands."

He arched his back with a sigh and closed his eyes.

Shampoo lather foamed, dripping off his head, off her hands. It plopped into the hot water that lapped her ankles and floated there like whipped cream, like cumulus clouds.

Heat and steam and the slick, moist sounds of her hands caressing his hair put her in a sensual trance. She could have gone on caressing his beautifully shaped head forever. Admiring his ears, the thick hair that slid between her fingers, his dark, gold-tipped lashes. His sharp cheekbones, the grim lines that bracketed his mouth. Flinging his head back like that made the tendons stand out in his sinewy neck.

She could lean down and kiss him right now. It would be so easy. A perfect lead-in. The thought circled in her mind, teasing, dancing in almost close enough to spur her into action, then retreating.

She scooped up hot water with the ice bucket, rinsed the lather out of his hair. Squeezed the water out. Connor opened his eyes. His eyebrows lifted, questioning.

She smiled shyly and squeezed conditioner onto her palm. The stuff had cost a fortune, and it was almost used up. She wasn't going to be buying hair-care products with that kind of price tag for a very long time, but what the hell. Connor was worth it. She squeezed until the tube was empty and flung it aside. "I'm going to work this stuff into your hair, and you're going to leave it on for ten minutes."

He looked aggrieved. "Ten minutes?"

"A half hour would be better," she said sternly. "I really should wrap your hair in a hot towel to help it penetrate. But I think that would be pushing my luck." She massaged conditioner into his hair.

Connor seized one of her slippery hands and held it to his face. "Wow," he murmured. "My hair's going to smell like that?"

"Yes, and you will live." She stared at the brutal scarring on his long, graceful hand. "So don't whine."

He stroked her hand, as if the conditioner were a massage oil. "I finally know the secret."

She was half-hypnotized by his caressing hands. "What secret?"

"Why your hair is so pretty." A lazy smile played over his mouth. "I always wondered how you made it so shiny and perfect. So this is how it's done. Hours in the bathroom, and sweet-smelling goop slathered all over you. I could get used to this."

Time warped and slowed even more in that silent, enchanted bathroom. The only sound was the hollow drip of the faucet plopping rhythmically into the bathtub. The room was a blur of fragrant mist.

She stared at his big, caressing hands and tried not to pant.

Connor's eyes flicked up to her face. He grinned. "You're rosy red, Erin. Are you hot? Or are you just blushing?"

"I'm hot," she said in a tiny voice. "I think it's time to rinse."

"Has it been ten minutes? Damn. Feels like ten seconds."

She had absolutely no idea. It could've been ten seconds, it could've been three hours. "At least ten minutes," she murmured.

He dropped his head into her hands with a growl of pleasure. "I feel like a sultan getting pampered by his beautiful bath attendant."

She giggled at the rush of erotic images his words provoked. Her eyes slid down the length of his body—and stopped at his groin.

He had an erection. A large erection. Not that she had much basis for comparison, but it was much larger than she'd expected.

Here it was, proof positive that if she came on to him, he wouldn't object. At least his body wouldn't. She could just reach down and… and what? Stroke him through his jeans, or would it be better to unbutton them? Her hands were goopy and wet. Maybe he would think it was vulgar and crass. Maybe he would be offended.

Or worse, amused. She was so goddamned chicken.

She rinsed his hair carefully and stood up. "Time to comb and trim," she announced. "Sit up on the edge of the tub, please."

He grimaced. "Do I have to?"

"You've come this far. Don't choke at the finish."

He lifted himself up. "You're not going to make me look like a poodle, are you?" he grumbled. "It has to be long enough for a ponytail. And all one length, for God's sake. Otherwise it drives me nuts."

"Don't worry," she said. "Trust me. I'm very good at this."

She eased her comb through his hair and fanned it out over his broad shoulders. "I'll trim it to shoulder length. That'll get rid of the split ends. Where's your part?"