Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(57)

His smile got even bigger. “Yeah, Ace, a day of you cryin’ in my arms, sleepin’ in my arms, kissin’ you, feelin’ your body, smellin’ your hair, your perfume, only so much a man can take. I ran for an hour, hard, didn’t even f**kin’ warm up, it didn’t touch it. Come back, deal with that f**kwad, and you’re standin’ there, all legs and hair, wearin’ my shirt. Seriously. Only so much a man can take.”

I had to admit, all of what he said made me feel like I was sliding back out of my brain and tuning into my body, a body that felt warm and happy.

I didn’t allow myself to go there.

“Will you get up? I have to take a shower and have breakfast with my family.”

He didn’t get up at first. Instead, his eyes moved over my face and hair.

Then he murmured, “Shower,” and all of a sudden he slid out of me and we were both up. We were on our feet and Tate had my hand. I searched the floor frantically to find his t-shirt in order to snatch it up, put it on and hide my nudity but he dragged me toward the bathroom.

“Tate!” I snapped, yanking at his hand to no avail.

He flipped on the switch and pulled me straight to the shower, reaching in and turning it on.

I tried to yank my hand away again but Tate responded by giving it a sharp tug so I fell forward, nearly into him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching him reach in to put a hand under the shower spray.

He turned to me. “In,” he ordered.

“Sorry?” I breathed then his hands were at my h*ps and he was shoving me in so I had no choice but to climb over the side of the tub and into the shower.

Tate came in after me and slid the curtain closed.

“Um…” I mumbled, my heart beating fast.

He had a great body, every inch of it. I didn’t know how old he was but I knew how old I was and I might not have back fat anymore and my arms and shoulders were moving straight toward killer because Tyler was Mr. Decline Push Up but the rest of me…

“Tate,” I said turning to face him, my forearms covering my br**sts but he was examining the little bottles of stuff the hotel left for you in the shower.

He picked a bottle and moved forward so I had to step back and was fully under the spray.

Then I felt his fingers slide through my hair.

“Can we –?” I started.

“Do you first,” Tate muttered. “Then you can get out and finish gettin’ ready.”

“Do me?”

He pulled me forward, so far forward my wet body was plastered against his.

I blinked up at him through the residual water sliding down my face and by the time I could focus his fingers were in my hair. They were strong, working at my hair and scalp.

Heaven.

I’d always loved that, someone playing with my hair which was why, when Tate did it the night before, I could relax and fall asleep watching TV with my head on his stomach. In Phoenix, I went to a particular salon and paid extra just because they gave fifteen minute head massages when they shampooed your hair.

I melted into him and tilted my head forward.

“That feels nice,” I whispered.

He didn’t reply, just kept washing my hair then he gently moved me under the spray, using his big hands on either side of my head to tip it back, his fingers gliding through my hair to get the soap out.

Then he moved me back out of the spray.

Not even thinking, I tipped my head back and informed him, “I wash twice, then condition.”

He dipped his bearded chin, grinned at me, dipped it further, touched his mouth to mine then he washed my hair again and, after, massaged in conditioner.

I was deep in a mellow zone, again out of mind, when Tate turned me to face the spray and I felt his soapy hands moving on me. They were everywhere and I just stood there, his front pressed to my back, and gloried in his slick, wet, soapy hands gliding along my skin.

Then one glided between my legs and stayed there while the other glided to my breast and cupped it.

My eyes opened and I blinked against the spray hitting my face.

“Tate,” I whispered.

He didn’t respond except his finger and thumb rolled my nipple.

My conditioner covered head fell back and hit his shoulder.

“Tate,” I breathed.

The fingers of both his hands moved and he took me there again, this time it took longer but it was no less fabulous. When I came, my h*ps bucked, my body jolted, my legs went weak and Tate’s hand at my breast became an arm wrapped around my ribs to hold me up.

As I came down, I did it with Tate holding me close to his body, arm still wrapped around my ribs, his other hand cupping my sex and when I was steady on my legs again, he turned me and his fingers went back into my hair to rinse out the conditioner.

When done, he pulled me out of the spray, switched our positions so his back was to it and I was out of it and his arms went around me, bringing me close.

I tipped my head back to look at him.

“Get out, finish gettin’ ready,” he ordered softly.

I could do nothing but agree. “Okay,” I whispered.

He grinned, touched his mouth to mine again, let me go and turned to the spray.

I got out but stilled with my hand on the curtain when I saw the gigantic black ink eagle, its wingspan covering Tate’s back from the bottom of his right lateral muscle sweeping up his left lat and over his shoulder with the body of the bird painted on a slant across his back, lat and even curling around his side. The other wing, I knew, curled over his shoulder, going down his arm and partly down his chest to his pectoral. His left shoulder was covered in glorious ink, his right was naked.