Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(58)

It was extraordinary and somehow sexy and I felt my legs get weak at the sight.

His hands were lifted to press the water through his hair then he reached for the dregs of the little shampoo bottle.

I resolutely shoved the curtain closed.

I grabbed a towel and ran into the bedroom. I quickly toweled off, rubbed the wet out of my hair and wrapped the towel around me. I eschewed lotioning. Indiana was a moist climate, I could get away without lotion. Colorado, even in a freak out to get dressed before Tate got out of the shower, I’d consider it.

I went to my suitcase which Tate had clearly moved back to the luggage rack this morning because, thankfully, it was there. I pawed through it lamenting Wendy and my shop-a-thon where, in throes of ecstasy that I was two sizes smaller, I bought nothing but sexy undies and threw away every piece of underwear I’d owned.

My choices were baby pink with ecru lace; fire engine red with black lace, full on black; sage green with taupe lace; it went on – but nothing unsexy.

Darn!

I grabbed the sage green, tugged the panties on under the towel and then whipped off the towel and frantically put on the bra because I heard the shower go off. I was wrapping the towel back around me when Tate walked out of the bathroom with another one wrapped around his waist.

My eyes went to him and I marveled at the fact that he looked fantastic with wet hair. Then again that wet hair came with a full on view of his bare chest and broad shoulders and that chest and those shoulders would look good with a head on top of it that had wet hair, dry hair or no hair.

His eyes came to me and slid down the towel.

He looked back at my face. “That as far as you got?”

“I had an underwear selection to make,” I explained and my voice sounded weirdly breathy.

He grinned again and before I knew what he was about, he gripped the edge of my towel and whipped it off.

I gasped and made a grab for the towel.

Tate tossed the towel on the bed, captured me with hands at my waist, tilted me back and took a long look.

Then his eyes came to mine. “Good choice, Ace.”

I tried to be cool even though, with his eyes on me, I was freaking out. “I’m glad you approve, now can I have my towel?”

His hands at my waist slid around, one arm wrapped around my waist, the fingers of the other hand sliding up into my wet and dripping hair.

I put my hands on his shoulders and exerted pressure.

“We need to get breakfast,” I whispered.

His head was coming toward me. “After I kiss you.”

“Tate,” I was still whispering.

He kissed me, I slid out of my mind and into my body. By the time he was done I was all about my body.

So was Tate. “Don’t cover up, baby,” he muttered against my mouth. “I like the view.”

“I’m –”

“I like it.”

“But –”

His hand slid over one cheek of my bottom and he pulled my h*ps deeper into his.

“Babe, spent a month thinkin’ about this moment, when you’d be mine and this was what I could look forward to. Don’t hide it from me.”

In complete shock at his words, I stared into his eyes. “You spent a month thinking about this moment?” I repeated.

“Actually, no,” he answered. “Spent a month thinkin’ about what I did to you in bed,” he smiled, “and the shower.” His smile got so sexy my fingers curled into his shoulders. “And what I’m gonna do to you later. Seein’ you in sexy underwear was just bonus footage.”

I had no reply to this. I couldn’t even process this. All I could do was stand in his arms, my body pressed to his, and gaze in his eyes.

“You gonna stand there lookin’ at me, kiss me or get ready?” he asked.

“Get ready,” I answered softly but didn’t move and I didn’t move mainly because I was thinking I preferred option two (but option one of just staring at him had its merits).

He grinned. “Babe.”

“What?”

He let me go but his hand didn’t leave my ass. It stayed there so it could push me toward the bathroom.

I grabbed my stuff as I went and camped out in the bathroom, wiping the mirror and starting to get ready. I’d pulled a comb through my hair, put on a white headband, washed my face, brushed and flossed my teeth, moisturized and I was preparing for minimal makeup when Tate walked in, still in his towel, and he brushed his teeth standing next to me.

This was when I came fully back into my mind, in fact, I came speeding into it at Mach Three.

How on earth was I standing in my new sage green satin and taupe lace underwear in a bathroom in a Marriott in Indianapolis with Tatum Jackson?

My blush brush arrested in mid-air and I turned woodenly to him.

“How did this happen?” I asked.

He took his toothbrush out of his mouth and with a mouth full of white foam, he asked, “What?” then kept brushing.

I swirled my blush brush in the air indicating the entirety of our situation with a flourish.

He turned to the sink, put a palm in the counter, bent his neck and spit. Then he rinsed. Then he twisted, reached across the counter in front of me, grabbed a hand towel and wiped, throwing it on the counter when he was done.

“You jumped me,” he answered.

“I didn’t jump you! You threw me on the bed!”