The Ghost Hunter by Lori Brighton Page B

hair…Christ.” He let the dress drop to the floor so she stood in her underwear and a tank top. Skimpy underwear that barely covered that rounded, lush backside. He forced his attention upward and unpinned her hair. The strands fell down her back, releasing a puff of white powder.
    “In the shower,” he demanded.  
    She did as she was told, not once arguing and that worried him more than anything. With a flip of his fingers, he released the button of his shorts and let them pool to his feet. He was wearing black boxer briefs that hugged the bulge between his legs. Did she notice? He didn’t care. All that mattered was the slickness of her curves as water trailed over her body. The way her undergarments became transparent, showing pink skin.
    Heat swirled low in the pit of his belly, tightening his insides. He stepped into the shower, the warm water kissing his skin. She merely stood, her back to him, as he squeezed out a dollop of shampoo and rubbed it into her hair. The scent of lilacs invaded the tiny stall.  
    “Do ye want to tell me what happened?” he asked, his voice gruff.
    He turned her to face him. He didn’t look directly at her, merely focused on his task. No, he didn’t focus on the feel of her warm, soft skin. He lathered his hands with soap and cupped the sides of her face, slowly rubbing the cleanser over her forehead, then her nose and chin. He had the sudden urge to memorize every tiny detail. The way her nose turned up ever so slightly at the tip. The way her lashes were tinged with gold. Hell, she’d touched something deep within, a part of his soul he hadn’t realized he’d had.
    His hands slid down the elegant column of her neck, then lower to her upper chest. She sucked in a sharp breath and he couldn’t help but notice the way her nipples tightened, hard beads that pressed against her thin, white tank top.
    Those rosy nipples were visible, practically begging for his mouth. His fingers paused there, right above her racing heart, cupping those soft mounds. Still, he didn’t look at her but focused on the pulse beating in the side of her neck, a delicate flutter. He swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring slightly. This was insane. Completely unprofessional.
    He dropped his hands. Water rinsed the suds away, making her body clean once more. His body didn’t give a shit about professionalism. With his eyes closed, he gave into his fantasy and imagined his mouth on her skin. His erection pressed painfully hard against his underwear.
    Although he no longer touched her, he was fully aware of the closeness of their proximity, fully aware of the way his body trembled with the urge to touch her. The animal inside of him wanted to rip that tank top and panties from her body, to slide fully into her sleek sheath.
    Cristian spun her around and pulled her back to his chest. His erection pressed tightly to her bottom. With a groan low in his throat, he nestled his face against her neck. An ache twisted low in his belly and his breath came out in harsh pants. God, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone. He reached around and cupped her breasts. With a moan, she rested her head back on his shoulder.
    He barely moved, worried that if he did, the beast within would awaken and he would lose control. Blood pounded through his body, demanding he take her up against that tiled wall. He wanted to kiss her lips, see what she tasted like. To take those hard, rosy nipples between his teeth and suckle. He wanted to sink his body into hers, to forget everything.
    She turned and directly met his gaze. He saw the desire there in her hazel eyes, desire no doubt mirrored in his own gaze. Boldly, she cupped the sides of his face. Before he could protest, she pressed her lips to his. Cristian groaned against her mouth, a tormented sound of need that he barely recognized. He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her tight against him. Their tongues met, mating, rubbing in a frenzy that took his