Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(86)
She was thoroughly enjoying running her soapy hands along the slick, wet, soapy skin and hard muscle of Prentice’s body, very thoroughly enjoying it, when Prentice’s fingers curled around her wrists. He pulled her up against his body by wrapping her arms around his waist.
The water cascaded down both of them but his head shielded her face which was tipped to look up at his.
His every-colored eyes were so warm they were burning and her breath caught.
His voice was a husky rumble as he murmured, “I think you got it.”
“Okay,” she whispered, vaguely embarrassed because she was overenthusiastic with the body wash.
Mostly, she was lost in counting the occurrence of each color in his irises and comparing the numbers.
Then she distractedly noticed something changed in those eyes and her mind only fully processed the change when his hand came to her jaw.
She blinked.
Then she focused on the look in his face and her belly dropped.
“What?” she whispered.
His thumb slid along her bottom lip.
His voice was again a husky rumble, this one softer and definitely sweeter when he whispered, “You haven’t looked at me like that in twenty years.”
Isabella’s throat closed and her body went solid.
For half a second.
Then his fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head, his arm sliced around her waist, pulling her deeper into his body and he kissed her.
Hard, long, and beautiful with the warm water sliding down their bodies and lilies of the valley fragrancing everything around them.
Heaven.
When she was putty in his hands, he released her but kissed her forehead and stepped out of the shower before she could think another thought.
She watched mutely through the glass door as he toweled off then wrapped the towel around his h*ps and turned to her.
“I’ll get the kids,” he said before he strode from the room.
She stared at the empty room and then her body jolted.
This wasn’t right.
Well, it was right, in a perfect world type of way.
But Isabella existed in a world that was far from perfect.
And she needed to shield Prentice and his children from that world
She turned off the water, jumped from the shower, toweled off and ran into the bedroom. Dragging on underwear and a bra, she opened the wardrobe doors and stilled, staring at her clothes.
She’d packed in a panic, not thinking of much except making certain she had the bare necessities. She never dreamed she’d be there for over a week. Everything she had in the wardrobe, Prentice had already seen.
It was too early to start recycling outfits.
And she needed a good outfit.
They’d had great sex last night and woke up together for the first time ever. That alone meant she needed a good outfit.
But they’d also just had great sex that morning and showered together for the first time ever.
That meant she needed a great outfit.
One part of her mind stopped the ridiculous rampaging thoughts of the other.
What was she thinking? She wasn’t trying to impress him with her style and flair.
She grabbed a pair of jeans and ran to the bureau and snatched a long-sleeved, dusty pink, thin, fitted t-shirt. She tugged these on and started to run from the room when she realized the towel was still wrapped around her hair.
She ran back, yanked off the towel and dragged a comb through her hair.
Then she started to run from the room again.
Then she ran back and pumped smoothing elixir into her hand, rubbed it through her hair and ran the comb back through.
Then she started to run from the room yet again.
Then she ran back, put on deodorant and spritzed on perfume and she began to run from the room.
Then, knowing she should ignore it (but she couldn’t ignore it), she ran back, folded the towel on the rack, made the bed and grabbed her clothes that were strewn around the room during the sexual festivities last night.
She noted that Prentice’s clothes were amongst hers and she grabbed those too thinking of him walking through the house in nothing but a towel, which caused her skin to start tingling.
Gathering their mingled clothes in itself was an act that caused her tingling skin to start to get warm as the memories of last night invaded.
With resolve, she ignored the tingling, the warmth and the memories.
Then she ran to the kitchen, stopping at the mudroom to toss their dirty clothes into the pile of unwashed laundry.
She’d flipped the switch on the coffeemaker when she heard Prentice calling her name.
She turned and looked to the top of the stairs.
He stood there barefoot, in jeans, his wet hair slicked back, his shirt unbuttoned all the way down, exposing his chest and stomach.
Her resolve to ignore the tingling and warmth slipped a hefty notch.
When she finally tore her gaze from his flat stomach and caught his eye, he bizarrely asked in an exasperated tone, “A little help up here?”
Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.
She stared at the place where she last saw him, slightly concerned about the frustration in his tone. Mostly her mind was busy deliberating on the fact that Prentice had asked for her to help him with something upstairs.
Upstairs, she had made beds, gathered clothes, vacuumed, tidied and put Sally to bed.
But in the mornings she made coffee and breakfast in the kitchen, never part of the family pandemonium upstairs that usually centered (from what she heard), one way or another, around Sally.