or even the treadmill. Oh, well. Like Little Orphan Annie said—or sang—there was always tomorrow.
She started for the row of bikes but stopped when she saw a flash of silver under one of the benches. She bent and picked up a cell phone.
“I think someone dropped this,” she said, holding it up.
“Where did you find it?” Sara asked.
“Under that bench,” Noelle answered, pointing.
“Jace was there last. It must be his.” Sara looked around the busy room and frowned. “I hate to ask, but could you bring it to him?”
Noelle flipped the phone over. Any hope she had that Sara was wrong was dashed by the sticker on the back of the case. Thor, complete with lightning bolt and baseball bat.
The Storm logo.
Of all the patients in this joint, why did it have to be his?
“Now?” she asked.
“If I know Jace, he’s already hunting for it. He said he had some calls to make.”
Noelle swallowed hard, searching for an excuse—any excuse—to say no. She didn’t even care how ungracious she sounded. “What about my PT session?”
Sara consulted a chart on the wall. “Come back in an hour. I’ll squeeze you in then.”
“Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?” Christ, she sounded like a whiny five-year-old.
Sara waved an arm, gesturing around the room. “Everyone else is otherwise occupied. Besides, you know where his room is.”
“I...I do?” Noelle stammered. “I mean, I do, but how do you...?”
“He told me you took my advice and apologized for listening in on us and thinking the worst.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Sara squinted at her. “You’re holding out on me.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Noelle wiped her suddenly clammy palms on her shorts.
“Yes, you do.” Sara put her hands on her hips. “Something’s going on with you and Jace.”
“What... ?” Noelle lowered her voice. “What would make you think that?”
“First, you all but refuse to bring him his phone. Then you get squirrelly about being in his room. Seems pretty suspicious to me.”
“Well, it’s not.” Noelle stamped her good foot for emphasis. “There’s absolutely nothing going on between us. I barely know the man.”
“Good. Then it won’t be a problem for you to give him his phone.”
Trapped.
“Of course not,” Noelle said with forced lightness. “I’ll see you in sixty.”
Woman up, she told herself as she limped out the door and down the hall. You got this. Just knock on his door, hand him his phone and go. No smiles. No small talk. And definitely no steamy kisses.
The first part of her plan was no problem. She made her way to his room and knocked. And knocked. And knocked. She even tried calling out his name.
No answer. Too bad the darned phone wasn’t thin enough to slip under the door.
In a last-ditch move, she tried the knob. If she was lucky, she could leave the phone just inside the door and slip away unnoticed.
She was lucky.
The knob turned and she inched the door open. The sound of running water greeted her, explaining why Jace hadn’t answered the door.
He was in the shower.
Which, of course, conjured all sorts of X-rated images in her head. Like Jace naked. And wet. And best—or worst—of all, hard. Every naked, wet inch of him.
Noelle shook her head to clear her thoughts—fat lot of good that did—and stepped gingerly into the room. She was all set to drop off the phone and hightail it out of there as fast as she could with one good leg when she heard a thud, then a moan, from the bathroom.
“Jace?” She froze, the phone still in her hand. “Are you okay?”
Another moan, this one longer, more guttural, almost a growl.
She put the phone down on the nightstand and pressed her ear to the bathroom door. “Jace?”
Still no response.
Damn.
How did she get herself into these predicaments?
He was probably fine. Doing what guys did in the shower when they were horny or bored or whatever. She’d done what she promised, brought him his stupid phone. And now she could—should—leave.
But what if he wasn’t okay?
Double damn.
She eased the door open, telling herself her motives were noble, not naughty. She’d only look long enough to make sure he wasn’t crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the bathtub. And if she happened to get a glimpse of a bulging bicep or slick pec or—heaven forbid—stiff cock, she’d just look down and back away quickly.
Very quickly.
JACE LEANED AGAINST the smooth, cool tile, letting the warm water pound his chest as he jerked himself into oblivion. He rolled his thumb over the head of his cock, imagining how the Duchess would react if she could see him now. And how he’d like her to react.
She had a perfect mouth, red, ripe and lush. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since their kiss. If he had his way, she’d be on her knees now with it wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and pictured her lips closing around his crown, her tongue stealing out to capture the drops of pre-come gathered at the slit.
His balls tightened and he squeezed his cock as he slid his soapy hand up and down the soft skin. He was close, so damn close.
But not yet.
He slowed his movements, not wanting the movie playing in his mind to end. Now Noelle was rising, sliding her slick body up his, thigh meeting thigh, breast meeting chest. Her pale skin glowed against his perpetual California tan. In his mind, she was perfectly smooth everywhere, and when she lifted one leg to hook it around his waist her sleek, bare pussy brushed against the tip of his rock-hard dick.
With a groan, Jace thrust into his fist, his need to come trumping his desire to prolong the sweet torture of his dirty daydream. He imagined he was driving into Noelle, pounding her, hammering her, her wet heat clenching around him until she was as desperate as him for release.
His thighs shook as he moved his good hand faster and faster over his straining
