Chapter 95 95
When he stepped behind her, soaped up his hands and reached around to wash her breasts, she didn’t make even a token protest. She stood mute, a lifelike statue, allowing him to shampoo her long, hair, to tip back her head beneath the water and rinse the bubbles away.
In that position, he couldn’t help himself. He had to taste those puckered rosy nipples, his tongue circling them, suckling them one at a time. When her knees gave out, he supported her with one arm behind her back.
He reached for the soap and eased his way down between her legs. Lazily, he slid the wet bar over her sex, back and forth. Sherry came to life, panting, lifting a leg to steady herself against the shower wall. Laughing softly, Justin dropped the soap and used his fingers to finish the job. She responded to him beautifully, lifting her hips into his touch, arching her neck as she reached for what he wanted to postpone. He wished that she felt comfortable enough with him to initiate sex, but that was asking a lot given their history.
He scraped her hair from her face, drawing it in his fist to the back of her neck. Even wet and bedraggled, she was stunning. He momentarily leaned his forehead against hers, still holding her by the hair. “I know from experience,” he said, “that the water is going to run cold in about two minutes. How do you feel about moving this to the bedroom?”
His prosaic question seemed to snap her out of some trancelike state. Her jaw dropped, and she winced, as if only now realizing that she was cavorting with a naked man in the shower. “We’ve wasted a lot of time playing around this weekend. I'll need to catch up on a lot when I get back.”
He gaped at her, his temper rising. She was pretending that she could walk away. That their sexual intimacy meant nothing to her. In his gut, he didn’t think she really believed that, but her attempt to shove him to a safe emotional distance infuriated him.
He worked on the ponytail he had crafted, not hard enough to hurt her… but with enough force to gain her attention. “Is this where I’m supposed to seduce you against your objections? What kind of game are you playing with me?”
“I’m not,” she cried, tears welling in her eyes.
Her genuine distress nicked him. Tears from a woman who never showed weakness indicated a level of involvement that dared give him a flicker of hope. “You could have fooled me,” he muttered, but the words held little heat.
She licked her lips, despite the fact that water still pelted down upon them. “I’m sorry if you think that. It’s not true. I would never do such a thing, I swear. I know that whatever we’re doing here isn’t permanent, but you’re important to me, Justin.”
“Forget it.” Now he felt guilty for his outburst. He shut off the water and grabbed two towels, handing her one without comment, using the other for himself. He turned his back, unable to watch the erotic image of his nemesis drying one slender limb at a time. He strode into the bedroom and stepped into a pair of boxers. “Do you want me to go downstairs and get you some clothes?” He raised his voice because she was still in the bathroom.
“There’s a pair of pajamas and matching slippers in the top drawer of the dresser.”
The words were subdued. He heard cabinets opening, and then the sound of the hair dryer. The trip downstairs and back was accomplished in record time, mainly because he resisted the urge to rummage through the piles of sherbet-colored lingerie. The delicate garments held a faint fragrance that was uniquely Sherry's. When he imagined her wearing them, confusion and hunger made him restless.
He took the stairs two at a time, stopping short when he entered the bedroom. She was standing in the doorway to the bathroom wearing one of his shirts she’d found hanging on a chair. Her legs were bare, her eyes huge with vulnerability, her hair mostly dry.
“Do you want to change into these?” he asked.
He saw her chest rise and fall. Her lower lip trembled. “No more pretending from me, Justin. I might as well be honest. What I want is to get in bed with you.”
It was the most she had ever offered him. The tremulous words socked him in the gut, disarming him even as they aroused. He swallowed his pique and decided to be offended later. “Well, okay then.” He dropped her clothing on a chair and approached her. “We’re going to talk today… sometime. About why you and I have this weird, screwed-up relationship.
But right now…”
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the bed.
“Right now, what?”
“Never mind,” he sighed, not sure what he’d been about to say. She felt perfect in his arms. As if for the first time, he had found what he was looking for. But it didn’t make any sense at all. Sherry was right. She was not the kind of woman he had thought he wanted for the long haul. She was sharp-tongued and opinionated and bossy. And though her body was sinfully soft, her personality was anything but.
She thrived on confrontation, and she’d rather best him at anything than give an inch. He was convinced that another Sherry lurked inside. A woman who didn’t have a chip on her shoulder. A woman who could warm a man with her caring and her courage. But for whatever reason, she had decided to keep the walls in place.
She'd said no to marriage, and he was going to respect her decision. She had granted him access to her body this weekend, but the essence of who she was remained under lock and key. It saddened him, but he was not really in a position to challenge her on it, knowing he wasn't fully honest with her either.
Tossing back the covers, he deposited her on the bed, coming down beside her and covering them both with the blankets. He had forgotten to turn off the overhead light, and the curtains were wide open. On one elbow, leaning over her, he studied her face.
In the clear light of day, her skin was luminous. Her eyes were darker today. She looked at him as she always did, wary, on her guard. As if expecting at any moment to have him lash out at her.