washing away all that had happened just that morning.
He ducked his head beneath the sharp, hot spray, then used some of the woman’s shampoo. It had an herbal smell, not too bad. Cody rinsed his hair, enjoying the feel of the hot water working the tension out of his body.
Outside the shower, standing by the sink with a white towel around his waist, he risked one more loan. One that was more personal but necessary. He searched through her toiletry bag until he found a plastic razor. Lathering up with the lemon-scented soap, he shaved, swiping away at the weekend stubble covering the lower half of his face.
When he finished, he wiped his face with a hot, wet washcloth, then combed his clean hair with the blue comb he’d found at the foot of the bed.
Feeling pleased with the way he looked and feeling so much better, confident that he could drive back to the set without breaking down, all he needed now was a good meal. Perhaps he could ask this woman—after making sure he finally found out what her name was—if she’d join him.
Opening the bathroom door and letting a rush of cool air into the steam-filled room, he stepped outside. Cody wished for just an instant that he had clean clothing to put on. Then he let the white motel towel that had been draped around his hips fall to the floor.
Just before he reached for his worn jeans, he felt a sudden jolt of awareness and glanced up.
She was awake. And watching him.
HE WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL man she’d ever seen.
Tall, strong and muscular. Powerful shoulders. Perfectly proportioned. She could see defined muscles in his legs and chest, even his abdomen. And his chest was covered with a sprinkling of dark hair.
Her heart in her throat, Jen looked up at his face.
He blushed, the reddish hue suffusing his face and neck.
She couldn’t imagine why—until she glanced down at his body again and saw he was becoming swiftly and gloriously aroused. His sex, as impressive as the rest of his body, was lengthening. Thickening.
Again, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
She’d awakened at the tail end of his shower, coming to consciousness while hearing the steady, soft fall of water. Then she’d smiled seeing how he’d tucked her in while she’d slept. The tenderness and intimacy of the gesture had touched her deeply.
She’d known he was taking a shower in her motel room, and it hadn’t bothered her a bit. She, a woman who hadn’t let her own fiancé touch her intimately until they’d been together for over a year, felt perfectly comfortable with this almost total stranger taking a shower in her motel room while she lay in a queen-size bed clad only in a whisper-thin silk robe.
She didn’t know why, but there weren’t as many barriers between them. Or maybe she did. Maybe she’d gone through most of her life having perfected the rather distant, cool and collected social face and manner that her father deemed appropriate. And maybe she’d set out on this journey to the West Coast because a part of her—the wisest part—knew her life was slowly killing her.
Maybe she wanted to live. To really feel alive. To know what that felt like after having come so close to dying.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off him. That muscular, masculine body. That large, strong erection. When he bent down and reached for his jeans, she said just one word.
“No.”
Though she’d spoken softly, the word sounded loud in the quiet of the motel room. It stilled his movement for his clothing. He looked at her, disbelieving. Puzzled. But also desiring her. He couldn’t hide it any more than she could.
But Jen knew he wouldn’t join her on her bed unless she let him know that was exactly what she wanted. This man, this stranger, wasn’t the type to take advantage of a woman. But she wouldn’t have wanted him or felt as safe with him if he’d been that sort of man.
He hadn’t seemed to register what she’d said, and Jen realized words were not the answer. Actions were. She’d told him, but now she would show him exactly what she wanted.
Sitting up in bed, she slipped the ivory silk robe off her shoulders, letting it slide to her waist. She felt the cool, air-conditioned air in the motel room against her breasts. As she looked down at them, unable to look at him, she felt her nipples harden into tight little points of sensation.
She wet her lips, trying to find the words to tell him what she wanted. Her throat felt dry, constricted with both a sort of fear and an equal amount of excitement. And somehow she knew this was right, knew this was what she wanted and what he needed.
In the end she merely looked up and held out her hand, knowing he could see exactly what she was trying to tell him in her eyes. It had to be there—emotions this strong had to come out somehow. A part of her couldn’t believe this was really happening, that she was making this happen, but a stronger feeling told her that this was right, it had to happen.
The connection, that strange electric sensation when she’d touched his cheek, remained. Slowly he crossed the room. Then he knelt down on the bed as she slid down on the soft mattress, onto her back. She closed her eyes as she felt his fingers swiftly untie the sash of her short robe, then lifted her hips as he yanked it away.
She opened her eyes, watched him as he studied her for a long moment, looking at her body almost as if he couldn’t believe what was about to happen. What had to happen.
Their eyes met. Held. She knew he was giving her one last chance to back out, to reconsider, even though she could see he was poised and ready, tense with need, his sex swollen and full, painfully aroused.
But this was more than mere sex. She was acting on pure instinct, wanting to reaffirm life in the most primal, instinctual manner possible. After coming so close to death, she wanted to feel again, to know she was alive. She wanted to be close to him, as close as one person could get to another.
She wanted to take him into her body and offer him peace. She wanted to fully experience her own sexuality, which had never happened before. And Jen knew it would happen with this man. She felt more when he simply touched her than when other men had been inside her, moving, the sensation not horrible, simply…pleasant.
Pleasant was not a word she’d ever use in connection with her sexual feelings toward this man. It wouldn’t be pleasant with this man, it would be something far more than that.
I want you, she thought, like I’ve never wanted another man in my life. She reached up, her gaze never leaving his, knowing that with a single touch she would set something in motion. Something that felt as if it had always been meant to be. Destiny. Kismet. Whatever you wanted to call it.
One touch. One leap of faith. She only knew she had to take it, because he was making this her decision, he was giving her complete control.
Her hand came up, and it was steady. She touched the side of his face, now smooth. He’d shaved.
At her touch he seemed to shudder, and she saw he’d been holding himself in check for her. She smiled at him, knowing that smile was reflected in her eyes, and he turned his face and kissed her palm.
Sensation, electric and hot, shot all the way through her body. To her breasts, then lower, pooling between her thighs. Making her ache. She’d
