Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits #1.5)(26)

My hands shake so badly that I miss the slot for the key card twice and breathe a sigh of relief when the door clicks open. The air conditioner I had turned down earlier in the day has officially become my worst enemy as goose bumps creep up my arm to my neck.

“Damn, Echo. Freezing meat?”

“I was hot.”

Noah dumps his clothes into a lump on the floor and readjusts the thermostat from arctic winter to what will eventually be tropical heat.

“Really?” I ask. “We’ve got to sleep in here.”

“Win the lottery?”

Good point. Even if our clothes weren’t drenched with pool water, hotel dryers cost a fortune to get clothes to somewhat damp. “So what’s the plan?”

“Lay them out flat and bring on the room heat. That is, after a shower.”

I drop my own bundle of clothes at the mere mention of a shower. Heat against my skin, soaking past my muscles to my bones. I’ve never yearned for anything more in my life. A cold bead of water escapes from my scalp, glides down my face and onto my chest. My teeth rattle, and Noah assesses me at the sound. “Let’s go before you turn hypothermic.”

“You’re letting me go first?”

“Do you think I’d make you wait?” Noah walks into the bathroom and I follow, rubbing my hands against my arms. He opens the shower curtain and leans over to turn on the water.

Good God, he’s gorgeous. Noah’s jeans ride low, low enough that if he hadn’t told me, I’d still know he wasn’t wearing boxers. Every single one of his glorious abs are exposed, and I even spot some of the smooth skin beneath the ripped-out muscles that lead to very private areas.

Warmth curls in my belly. A warmth I wish would spread through the rest of me. Water splashes against the tub, and my eyes widen when Noah flicks the button of his jeans through the hole.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Noah’s lips slowly form into that wicked grin I’m way too familiar with. Oh, crap. Just crap. “I’m cold, Echo, and so are you. A hot shower sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

I nod, too frightened I’ll squeak instead of speak. Noah and I have messed around, a lot. We’ve kissed and touched and shed clothes in moments where things became as hot as an inferno, but there’s always been a discreet air surrounding us.

Certain things stayed on when other things came off. Hands would wander below instead of a complete unveiling. And the times that we pushed beyond our normal boundaries and our blood rushed too hot for too long...there would be a blanket and one night, his black leather jacket.

After that delicious night, I will never smell leather again without blushing.

But now, this, standing in the middle of a hotel bathroom, Noah is suggesting that we strip ourselves of everything and huddle together behind a shower curtain and...well...bathe. That’s just...intimate.

“I...”

And Noah unzips his jeans. I spin on my heel, and my reflection in the mirror confirms the shock exploding in my body. My green eyes are too bright against my pale skin, and my drenched hair molds to my head and cheeks. Goose pimples outline my skin, and my body quakes.

Because they’re wet, Noah’s jeans are a bit stubborn sliding down, but he’s successful, and in the mirror I’m drawn to his naked body. I love the raw power of his shoulder blades and the curve of his back that trails lower to his...my mouth dries out...oh, crap...his butt is...how do I describe something so exquisite?

Everything about Noah is sexy, and as he bends to pull the jeans off his foot—

“If you get in the shower with me, Echo, you’d get a better look and you’d warm up.”

“I should get...my pj’s...so that they’re in here...when we...finish.” Or something.

“Finish?” he repeats with a tease. “I’m all about finishing.”

Internally screaming, I half turn and throw myself into what I believe is the doorway and instead ram into the corner of the wall. “Ow!”

My hands fly up to my bang line to cover the now possibly dented and crushed area of my skull. I am the most impaired person on the face of the planet.

“Echo?” Noah’s concern leaks into his voice, but I wave him off—without peeking.

“Go. I’m fine. I’m just...go.”

Instead, a warm hand settles on my shoulder, and my fingers slip down to hide my entire face. At least my cheeks are now hot. “You’re naked, Noah.”

“Yeah. I am. Nothing you haven’t seen before—now let me see how bad it is.”

“I’m fine.”

“You cracked your head, and I want to look.”

“I haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?”

“Seen you.” The words are muffled through my fingers. “Down there. All the way. I’ve...avoided it.”

Water continues to pour into the tub, and I distantly wonder if the drain is open, otherwise we’ll flood the room. Noah brushes his thumb against my neck. “But you’ve—”

“I know,” I cut him off. I’ve touched him, but no need to get all conversational about it.

“And you haven’t—”

“No.” I really, really don’t want to discuss this or hear him say out loud what I’ve done or haven’t done because it’s like pointing out that I overplucked one eyebrow or that my bangs are uneven or, I don’t know, it’s embarrassing!