would go down to the sea to summon a messenger. Conn would tell
her what to do.
If anything could be done . The whisper licked along her nerves like
flame.
She sat up in the tub, water sluicing from her bare shoulders. She
would not think that way. She was enough of a fatalist to accept that what
would be, would be.
And enough of a survivor to take her pleasures in the meantime.
Reaching a hand for one of the pretty colored bottles along the edge
of the tub, she unscrewed the cap and sniffed.
Caleb was climbing the stairs when the smell smacked him like a
wet towel.
91
A cloud of scent and steam rolled from the bathroom and enveloped
him. Cucumber, melon, apricot, strawberry, mixed and mingled together.
His head swam. Like a fricking bomb had gone off at a farmers’
market.
He cleared his throat. “Maggie?”
“In here.” Her throaty voice purred through the open bathroom door.
Hell, he knew she was in there. Wet. Naked. Vulnerable, he
reminded himself.
“Do you, uh, need anything?”
“Yes.”
He waited.
Nothing.
He released his breath. Okay. He’d seen her naked before. Recently.
Just because she sounded like a wet dream and smelled like a whole roll
of Lifesavers was no reason to lose his mind or his cool.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he was approaching a crime
scene. Don’t touch . “Right. Coming.”
The door stood open. He walked in and there she was, naked in the
bathtub, her dark hair damp on her bare shoulders and her breasts just
below the bubble line.
“Well.” He focused on her face with an effort. “You look better.”
Her cheeks were flushed. Her knees rose from the sea of foam like
little pink islands.
“I feel better.” She stretched her shoulders, and her breasts bobbed
briefly above the scented bubbles.
He felt like an idiot, stiff and awkward. Aroused. “What did you
want?”
92
“I need to go back to the beach,” she said. “Will you take me?”
He shook his head, caution penetrating his fruit-flavored, lust-induced fog. “It’s too late.”
“Likely in more ways than one.” Her full lips quirked and then
firmed. “Nevertheless, I must go.”
“Why?”
Her eyes challenged his. “Does it matter?”
“It might.” He remembered her wild struggle to reach the fire. She
didn’t trust him. He needed her to trust him. “What’s on the beach,
Maggie?”
“Nothing now.”
“Then—”
She stood. Bubbles streamed down her body, parted over breast and
thigh, slid over that gorgeous length of leg. “Will you hand me a towel?”
His tongue was suddenly too large for his mouth. His pants were too
tight. Wordless, he grabbed a towel off the edge of the sink and extended
it toward her.
Maggie wrapped her body, tucking the edge of the towel between
her breasts. “If you won’t take me, I will find my own way.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take you.”
No reason not to, he reasoned, after he had processed the scene.
Maybe returning to the place she’d been attacked would jog her memory.
She smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
“You did that on purpose.”
Her smile broadened. “Do you care?”
“Not if I get to see you naked,” he answered frankly, and was
rewarded by her laugh.
93
“Then we both are satisfied.”
“Not by a long shot.” Edgy and restless, he prowled the short
distance to the sink and back, his hands still safely anchored in his
pockets. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After lunch.”
She tilted her head, regarding him. “Not in the morning? ”
“I’m busy.”
“Ah.” She shrugged, making the towel move in interesting ways.
“Until tomorrow, then.”
He’d expected her to object, to acknowledge that she wanted him.
Needed him, even if it was only for this. He had to find some way to
reforge the connection between them, to remind her she was his.
Unable to resist, he bent to kiss her, a brief, frustrated meeting
her what to do.
If anything could be done . The whisper licked along her nerves like
flame.
She sat up in the tub, water sluicing from her bare shoulders. She
would not think that way. She was enough of a fatalist to accept that what
would be, would be.
And enough of a survivor to take her pleasures in the meantime.
Reaching a hand for one of the pretty colored bottles along the edge
of the tub, she unscrewed the cap and sniffed.
Caleb was climbing the stairs when the smell smacked him like a
wet towel.
91
A cloud of scent and steam rolled from the bathroom and enveloped
him. Cucumber, melon, apricot, strawberry, mixed and mingled together.
His head swam. Like a fricking bomb had gone off at a farmers’
market.
He cleared his throat. “Maggie?”
“In here.” Her throaty voice purred through the open bathroom door.
Hell, he knew she was in there. Wet. Naked. Vulnerable, he
reminded himself.
“Do you, uh, need anything?”
“Yes.”
He waited.
Nothing.
He released his breath. Okay. He’d seen her naked before. Recently.
Just because she sounded like a wet dream and smelled like a whole roll
of Lifesavers was no reason to lose his mind or his cool.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he was approaching a crime
scene. Don’t touch . “Right. Coming.”
The door stood open. He walked in and there she was, naked in the
bathtub, her dark hair damp on her bare shoulders and her breasts just
below the bubble line.
“Well.” He focused on her face with an effort. “You look better.”
Her cheeks were flushed. Her knees rose from the sea of foam like
little pink islands.
“I feel better.” She stretched her shoulders, and her breasts bobbed
briefly above the scented bubbles.
He felt like an idiot, stiff and awkward. Aroused. “What did you
want?”
92
“I need to go back to the beach,” she said. “Will you take me?”
He shook his head, caution penetrating his fruit-flavored, lust-induced fog. “It’s too late.”
“Likely in more ways than one.” Her full lips quirked and then
firmed. “Nevertheless, I must go.”
“Why?”
Her eyes challenged his. “Does it matter?”
“It might.” He remembered her wild struggle to reach the fire. She
didn’t trust him. He needed her to trust him. “What’s on the beach,
Maggie?”
“Nothing now.”
“Then—”
She stood. Bubbles streamed down her body, parted over breast and
thigh, slid over that gorgeous length of leg. “Will you hand me a towel?”
His tongue was suddenly too large for his mouth. His pants were too
tight. Wordless, he grabbed a towel off the edge of the sink and extended
it toward her.
Maggie wrapped her body, tucking the edge of the towel between
her breasts. “If you won’t take me, I will find my own way.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take you.”
No reason not to, he reasoned, after he had processed the scene.
Maybe returning to the place she’d been attacked would jog her memory.
She smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
“You did that on purpose.”
Her smile broadened. “Do you care?”
“Not if I get to see you naked,” he answered frankly, and was
rewarded by her laugh.
93
“Then we both are satisfied.”
“Not by a long shot.” Edgy and restless, he prowled the short
distance to the sink and back, his hands still safely anchored in his
pockets. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After lunch.”
She tilted her head, regarding him. “Not in the morning? ”
“I’m busy.”
“Ah.” She shrugged, making the towel move in interesting ways.
“Until tomorrow, then.”
He’d expected her to object, to acknowledge that she wanted him.
Needed him, even if it was only for this. He had to find some way to
reforge the connection between them, to remind her she was his.
Unable to resist, he bent to kiss her, a brief, frustrated meeting
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