Page 108 of Just Watch Me
“Oi,” she said. “I was using that.”
“Yeh? What parts were you planning on washing first?” There was a gleam in his eyes—well, his eye, as the other one was too swollen to see any gleams in—and he was gesturing ather with the facecloth. He hadn’t shaved, of course, and the overall look was pretty barbaric.
Worked for her, apparently, because she said, “My neck and arms?” It came out as a question, though.
“Right,” he said. “I’ll start there, then.” Which he did. After that, he went everywhere else. Hewashedher. When had anybody last done that? she wondered hazily. When she’d been three? It probably hadn’t felt like this. The warm, fragrant steam, the rasp of the terrycloth, the slick of the body wash, the touch of his other hand as he held her … it was very nearly melting her bones. He traced a path over her belly, her breasts, her thighs, and then he dove between her legs and was very, very … thorough.
She was leaning against the wall by now, but she managed to say, “I should do you.”
“Mm.” Not listening again, because he’d dropped the facecloth, got his hands on the backs of her thighs, and was lifting her. And kissing her. Her mouth. Herneck.He stayed there, too. The warm water poured over her, and Zane kissed her neck until she was gasping and boneless. After that, he carried her out of the shower, put her on the mussed bed, and did some other things. Alotof other things. The man knew how todothings.
He wore that vibrator device again, too. Why didn’t every man wear one of those? It was a revelation.
Finally, she was lying on her back, still gasping for breath, one arm above her head and her hair probably wilder than ever, because he’d tugged it straight out of the topknot. That would be when he’d been kneeling behind her, his hand wrapped around most of her hair, pulling her head back. She’d had fantasies, but she’d had noclue.
He proved the point by coming back in from where he’d presumably got rid of the condom—she needed to get on some birth control here, she thought hazily—straddling herbody, taking her head in his hands, kissing her again, and saying, “Well, that’s given me an appetite.”
She laughed, though she probably didn’t have breath for it. She put a gentle hand on his face, traced the edges of the swelling around his eye, and said, “Hurts, eh.”
“Nah. Too much anesthetic in me right now to hurt.” He gave her hip a slap. “Come on, lazy. The day awaits.”
“I will if you getoffme,” she said, and he grinned and did it. He gave her a hand to get to her feet, too, because she groaned. “I’m sort of throbbing,” she informed him. “A bit sore, to be honest. Practically a thirty-two-year-old virgin here. Born-again virgin.”
His gaze sharpened. “I should be more careful, then, you reckon?”
“No,” she said, beginning to gather scattered clothes from the floor. “I’ll wear my honeymoon cystitis proudly when I get my UTI. I’d better do some more yoga, too, because those positions you like require some flexibility. Think the kids will understand why I’m adding so many backbends?”
“No,” he said, pulling on his jeans, “but I’ll appreciate it. And if you want to buy some more of those bras and undies, I’ll appreciate that, too.”
She paused in the act of hooking the pale-green lace bra, which was wholly inadequate as supportive daywear. It made her feel like a siren from the deep, though, so who cared? “Brazilian panty, though,” she said. “Not a thong.”
He ran a hand over the swell of her bum, which, yes, was completely bare, gave it a little slap that made her jump, and said, “Works for me.” And grinned. Hedidseem to be in a good mood.
“Pity, then,” she said, “that I can’t afford any more of this stuff. Why are the smallest clothes always the dearest?” She pulled on the loudest flowered trousers in the world—the design practically leapt off the fabric and started climbingwalls on its own; why had she succumbed to Jess’s insistence?—and then added the weird top, completing the walking-curtains effect.
“I can, though,” he said. “Text me what you bought. That’ll give me the sizes. Presents are good, eh. Flowers and so forth.” He stopped in the act of buttoning his shirt and slapped his forehead. “Bugger. I’m an idiot.”
“What?” She was on the floor now, crawling around trying to find her hair clips on the flowered carpet. She probably blended in. Ha. Also, couldn’t he have collected them when he’d pulled them out?
No, because you didn’t want him controlled. You wanted him hot and urgent, and that’s what you got.
“I should’ve sent you flowers,” he said. “Last week. It’s been a long time since I?—”
“Since you did anything but a hookup. That’s OK. I don’t need flowers. Have I ever actually got flowers? Well, yeh. After the kids. People send you flowers in hospital. And after Peter died, of course, but that doesn’t really count.”
“That’s pathetic,” he said. “We can do better. Right. Romance. Undies. Flowers. And so forth.” He looked at his watch. “Dunno what you thought about doing this morning, but?—”
“But I need to go collect the kids and get started on my Sunday,” she said. “Supermarket. Laundry. Changing sheets. Meal prep. Life calls, and therewasall that shopping yesterday.” Briskly, so he wouldn’t think she was, what? Planning on moving in?
He looked at her. “What?” she asked. “I know—no makeup, and my hair’s a bit wild. Here, I’ll put it in a pony.”
He ignored that. “Normally,” he said, “I pick up treats on Sunday morning from Mor Bakery in Remuera. We make a pan of scrambled eggs and the kids eat things they shouldn’t. Bit of a ritual, eh.”
“Oh. Well, I guess … do you have your car? I don’t even know.”
“At the team hotel, I do. Five minutes’ walk.”
“Oh. So go get your treats, I’ll go get my kids, and you can do your Sunday and I’ll do mine. And I’ll see you … whenever.” Briskly again. People did this all the time. How did they ever manage? Jade had come in the other week after an overnight, hadn’t she? She hadn’t seemed one bit fussed about it, whereas Skylar was finding it decidedly awkward.
