by Shirl Henke
He tossed the keys across the counter at her and gave directions to the last room on the left side. Then he turned back to the TV and a rerun of an old Beatles movie.
Sam knew the paper towels hadn’t done much to remove eau de Slurpee from her vehicle. “Oh well, Aunt Claudia can absorb the cost of new carpet, so to speak,” she muttered as she backed the van up to the door and guided Matt into room thirteen. The moment she checked out the bathroom, she knew the number had been an omen.
“Not a damn place in the shower to hook that cuff to.”
Matt could hear her curses as she drew nearer. He would’ve smiled if not for the tape over his lips. Now she was muttering something about the shower stall as she began unraveling the bandages from his head. The sleep mask came next. Then she removed the tape, not at all gently.
“Anyone ever tell you your bedside manner stinks?” he asked, blinking to get his eyes to focus.
“Anyone ever tell you that you just plain stink?” she shot back.
“That’s your fault for dumping that gunk down the wrong pipe.”
“The right pipe would’ve been a lead one—to beat you unconscious for the rest of this trip.”
In spite of the red splotches and crisp hairdo, she looked kind of cute. He grinned. “You look like you have a wicked case of measles. Oh, and I like the ‘do.’ That Slurpee stand’s in the wrong business. Oughta start marketing that stuff as hair gel.”
“Amusing from a man who looks like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Mr. Granger.”
“Don’t you think you could call me Matt?” Why in the hell was he getting the hots for a woman who’d done him more bodily injury than a Jersey leg-breaker?
“Nope.” Her single-syllable reply did not convey the cool certainty she had intended. How can a man in this condition be wildly attractive to me?
He stared at her breasts again, even though that was what had gotten him in this mess in the first place. Think of something else, Granger. He raised his head and looked at her face. In spite of everything, she was still one hell of a good-looking dame. He shrugged inside the straitjacket and grinned stupidly at her. “You going to keep me trussed up all night?”
“Nah,” she replied grimly, removing the stun gun from her fanny pack. “But unless you want to do more break dancing, better pay attention.”
“As Ross Perot said, I’m all ears.”
That wasn’t exactly the part of his anatomy her thoughts had strayed to, but she would definitely not share that with him. “There’s no way to secure a cuff in the shower stall in this dump, so I’ll have to bathe you myself.”
He leered. “Now I’m all eyes.”
“You won’t be for long.” With that, she slipped the blindfold back on.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I’m going to remove your clothes and the jacket, then cuff your hands behind your back and guide you into the stall. You behave while I scrub you off—I mean, oh, hell, you know what I mean.”
He grinned. “No fair. You get to watch and I don’t.”
“I’m the health-care professional, remember?” Just keep reminding yourself of that, Sam.
Chapter 4
Sam slipped the robe off of his body, unfastened the jacket straps and pulled the apparatus off of him. Every article of apparel on him was stiff with red ichor. Then she stood back and said, “Take off the pj’s and then put your hands behind your back.” Obediently, he unbuttoned the pajama top and shucked it.
But the bottoms were stuck to his legs. He said to her, “Okay if I bend down and peel these off or will you zap me again?”
“Do it—slowly.”
He yanked the cheap cotton off with a hiss of pain when sizable clumps of his leg hair went with it.
“Now you know what a bikini wax feels like,” she said.
He straightened up and glared at her through the blindfold. “Thank God I was born male.”
Her mouth went dry just looking at his body. She was definitely happy he was a male, too! Now naked for her to admire, Matt Granger was quite a sight to behold. Keep it professional, Sam. She cleared her throat, then said, “Now, put your hands behind your back.”
He did as he was told, holding his hands so she could click the cuffs on his wrists. Then he let her guide him toward the sounds of steamy water pouring from a shower nozzle. He could hear the soft rustle as she shed her clothes and visions of the two of them naked in the water flashed through his mind, sending signals to his body. Now he was sure there’d been no permanent damage from that stun gun. Thank God!
“Don’t you think you could call me Matt, now?”
“Definitely not now. Get into the shower.” Sam shoved him beneath the steamy downpour, but not before he backed up just enough for her breasts to brush against his arm. Damn, the man had some moves, even blindfolded and cuffed!
“No fair again. You have me buck-ass and you’re still wearing stuff,” he groused.
Since her bra and panties hadn’t suffered during the accident in the van, she had left them on, body armor of a sort. A Victoria’s Secret chastity belt. Ha! Somehow, Sam didn’t figure it would do much good. “Quit bitching and stand still,” she said sharply, lathering up a bar of soap between her hands. She stood stupidly, suds running down her arms while she stared at his water-slicked body, which filled the small shower stall.
She was afraid to touch him.
As if reading her mind, he taunted, “Come on, Samantha. Scrub me off.”
You can do this. You’re a trained professional. And he’s worth ten grand! Sam repeated the words like a mantra as she reached up and began lathering his chest. God, the pelt of black hair felt good. Too good. She moved up his neck and said, “Close your eyes.”
“Why the hell should I? I’m blindfolded.”
She thrust her soapy hands into his hair and started scrubbing.
“Yeow! That burns!”
“I told you to close your eyes. Soap’s dripping inside the mask.” He was handsome even when his face squinched up, dammit! After that she was forced to move to those broad shoulders and then let her hands glide down his biceps. Odd that she’d never before realized the similarities between bathing someone and foreplay. “Turn around so I can get your back.”
“But you haven’t finished with my front,” he said, chuckling as his erection nudged her right in the belly button. “Bull’s-eye,” he crowed.
“Nope. High, twelve o’clock,” she managed to say before all the breath left her body. Stepping back, she seized his shoulders and forcefully turned him around. “Raise your arms so I can wash your armpits.”
“What do I look like, a contortionist? Lady, you have my hands cuffed behind my back. Now, if you’d care to unlock them…”
In response, she took the bracelets by their connection and yanked them up. He yelped in surprise. Then when she reached two soapy hands to scrub his armpits, he tried to clamp his arms to his sides, hunching over, sliding away. “That…tickles,” he gasped, fighting not to laugh out loud, failing as she continued forcing her soapy fingers higher into the sensitive cavities.
His whole body convulsed with helpless laughter and he leaned back against the shower wall. Sam couldn’t help her broad grin, unable to resist playing the game in spite of its inherent dangers. “I don’t need a stun gun to control you—only my fingers,” she said, knowing the laughter in her voice was unmistakable.
“Anyone…ever tell…you…you’re vicious?” He finally managed to get the words out through rumbling chuckles that echoed in the small confines of the shower. Her fingers moved across his bent back, tickling the sensitive skin at his nape. To reach his neck, she had to press her body over his and lean into him on tiptoes. Matt could feel her breasts, still clad in a nylon bra, feel the nipples’ nubby distension through the thin fabric.
Damn, Granger! What the hell are you doing? Quit now. But his body overruled his mind. Her panties were a wisp of lace under his fingers and her body was as slick with soap as his. It
didn’t take much to tug those panties down, even with his hands cuffed. He slid the briefs over the curve of her hips before she could stop him—if she wanted to, which he was beginning to doubt. At least, he sure hoped she didn’t want to stop.
When her panties dropped to her ankles, Sam let out a squeak of surprise and slithered off his back. “How the hell did you do that?” she gasped, struggling not to lose her balance with her feet practically tied together.
He turned to face her with a lopsided grin. “Lots of practice. Wanna see me unhook a bra blindfolded?”
“No. If I want slight-of-hand, I’ll watch David Copperfield.” She tried to sound cool, but leaning against the shower wall with her panties around her ankles made it difficult. There wasn’t enough room to bend over and pull them back up so she kicked them off, again stumbling against the wall. Matt glided in quickly, pinning her with his body.
“Careful you don’t fall and break that delectable keister,” he murmured in her strawberry hair. “I’m not the only one who needs a shower,” he purred. “I could give you a shampoo…”
“No way,” she said breathlessly, seizing the soap and giving her head a quick lather and rinse. “God, that feels better.”
“Yeah, it sure does,” he said, rubbing his pelvis against her belly.
Sam’s hips instinctively hitched forward. Lord above, even rigor mortis couldn’t make flesh that rock hard. But the guy certainly qualified as a big stiff! Suddenly she wanted to touch it, wanted to very much. “You were right—I haven’t finished washing your front,” she managed to get out.
“Please, be my guest,” he replied, his voice no steadier than hers. Stepping back, he allowed her to put about three inches between them.
She reached for the soap again and lathered her hands, then lowered them to the pole probing her navel. All she could think was, Lower, just a little bit lower…
The minute her hands took hold of his cock he let out a guttural oath of sheer desperation. “You know, we gotta do something about this.”
“Yeah. Wash your legs.” She let go, teasing his balls before sudsing down one long hairy leg, then moving back up the other leg, pausing to cup those small tight male buns. They’d looked great the first time she saw him. They felt even better. Damned if he wasn’t right. No stopping now. Some small voice of sanity tried to reason with her. This was dangerous as hell—not to mention a gross breach of ethics.
But her hormones won.
“Okay, Houdini, let’s see you unhook a bra with your hands cuffed,” she whispered, slithering her body against his as she turned her back to him.
“Don’t think I can, eh?” he dared her.
Matt turned and bent his elbows, running his fingers over the delicate indentations of her spine until he reached his destination. As he took the bra hook in his hands and freed it, he rubbed his head against the shower nozzle, catching the elastic band of the sleep mask on it and pulling back. The mask popped free and dropped to the shower floor.
By the time Sam had shrugged the bra off, and turned around, he was facing her wearing nothing but a wide lascivious grin and a serious hard-on. “Damn, you’re gorgeous,” she breathed, not really registering that his eyes were making a sweeping inventory of her wet naked body just as hers were making one of his.
“So are you, Sammie.” Before she could react, he bent forward and took one nipple in his mouth and sucked on it until she moaned.
The blindfold was gone and so was she, the instant his mouth made contact with her breast. Now Sam was the one unable to see. Her eyelids fluttered down and she concentrated on how good it felt.
If only his hands weren’t cuffed. But, hell, he could improvise. He backed her against the wall of the stall and used his mouth to very excellent advantage, working on one breast, then the other until she was hanging on to his shoulders and quivering like Jell-O.
Someone said, “The bed.” Maybe they both did. But it was Sam, with her hands free, who finally ripped back the shower curtain and stepped out of the stall. Matt was right behind her, prodding her with his erection as they slipped and slid on wet feet across the tile floor, leaving puddles of water…and the shower still running full blast.
The ancient air conditioner alternately groaned and hummed, filling the musty room with frigid dehumidified air that quickly dried them, although the heat burning beneath their skin probably helped. Matt bent down and took her mouth, opening his over it, plunging his tongue inside after rimming her parted lips. She held tightly to his shoulders, tiptoeing to return the savaging kiss as she melded her body into his, working her hips over his erection.
When they started to tumble onto the mattress, Sam broke off the kiss long enough to yank down the faded blue chenille bedspread and blanket under it, revealing a decently white set of sheets on the twin bed. Impatient to continue, Matt leaned over and ran his tongue along the ridge of her spine, thrusting between the cheeks of her delectable ass with his rod until he overbalanced and they both went sprawling headfirst onto the lumpy motel mattress with Sam squished beneath him.
“Mmmumph!” she wheezed as he rolled off of her. “Jeez, you weigh more than a Peterbuilt Engine.”
“An apt comparison, considering,” he murmured, his brain scrambling for a way to consummate their passion with his hands cuffed behind his back. Some subliminal instinct warned him not to ask her for the key. He sat up on the edge of the bed, his erection now becoming acutely demanding as she wriggled over to the opposite side and knelt. She patted the bed, indicating that he should stretch out beside her.
He obliged. His shoulders felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets and the cuffs bit into his wrists when he rolled onto his back. All that barely registered when Sam swung one slender tanned thigh over his hips and took him in her hands. “Let me in, baby,” he groaned.
She obliged. Her hips slowly lowered until the head of his shaft touched her. That was it. She lunged downward just as he thrust upward. Oh, sweet lord, was it good! Unable to stop herself, Sam rode like a rodeo champion, wanting it to go on for hours…glorious hours. But, desperate as they both were, it was over in minutes. As soon as the first spasms began deep in her belly, he thrust harder and faster, driving her to the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life.
Matt felt her muscles tighten around him like a velvet fist, squeezing him until he let go, pumping uncontrollably until he was blissfully drained. Sam’s hair tickled his chin as she collapsed on his chest. Those sensational breasts pressing into his pectorals felt nice. Real nice. He wanted to hum with the warm comfort of it and just lay there melded together with her like two pieces of licorice, softened in the noon heat.
The window unit’s compressor groaned back to life after a catnap, pummeling Sam with a sudden gust of frigid air. Goose bumps marched down her spine, drying her sweat-slicked skin and abruptly cooling the mad ardor of a moment ago. Bliss was gone and conscience had returned.
With a vengeance.
What the hell had she done? Talk about sleeping with the enemy! This was a hundred times worse. She had violated one of the most sacred trusts of her profession—she’d taken advantage of a helpless prisoner, cuffed and blindfolded…well, maybe he had lost the blindfold, she amended, peeking through her damp, tangled hair to glimpse his face. When had that happened? Back in the shower?
Damned if she knew. But she did know she’d done the unthinkable and now she’d have to face the consequences. Apologizing to an arrogant bastard like Matthew Granger was going to be pure hell. And they had another four days on the road together. How the hell was she going to get through it? Well, Sam, old girl, only one thing to do. She had to look him directly in the eye and get her P.C. guilt out in the open.
At least he wasn’t some poor mentally unbalanced cult member. Small consolation, but it salved her conscience just the slightest bit. Damn if she wouldn’t kill Patowski when this was over. After she collected the ten K from Aunt Claudia. A girl had to keep her priorities, after all, she reminded herself.
Stalling, Ballanger. Just do it.
Taking a deep breath, she sat up and stared down into his face. He looked beatifically content. Not exactly smug. Just…happy. She cleared her throat and he opened his eyes, grinning at her like a large spaniel who’s just been given a good scratch behind the ears—after woofing down a pound of hamburger.
“Thank you, Sam,” he said simply, then grunted when she moved slightly, shifting her weight so the cuffs bit into a place where his wrists weren’t already numb. Sharp pains radiated like pulsar beams from both shoulders when he instinctively tried to jerk his arms into a less agonizing position. He let out an involuntary oath.
“Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry,” she practically sobbed, now guilty beyond endurance. He must realize what a terrible thing she’d done to him.
“Well, I’m not—at least not about this,” he said, raising his head so his eyes could travel down to where she still sat astride his cock. “But could you please move so I can get up before my shoulders separate from my collarbones?”
Sam jumped off of him as if a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over her head. The air conditioner picked that instant to release another icy billow directly on the limp remains of his privates, which quickly shriveled to far less impressive dimensions.
“Aah, crap,” he muttered, rolling onto his side so he could sit up and turn his back to the infernal machine torturing the most sensitive part of his anatomy.
The compressor chose that moment to kick off, allowing the sound of pounding water to filter through from the bathroom. “Ohmigod! We left the shower running and the curtain open,” Sam croaked, dashing naked toward the bathroom. Before she got halfway to the door her toes began to squish over soaked carpet. The tile floor was covered with water, lapping gently over the doorsill.
Grumbling some of Uncle Declan’s better oaths, she sloshed to the shower and shut it off. The motel would charge quite a bit for damages. How the hell could she explain that one to Aunt Claudia on the expense account? Thoroughly chastened, she began throwing the excess of towels from the rack onto the floor to soak up the water.