by Ginna Gray
"I've … I've already showered. I was about to step out of the stall when you … uh…" She waved her hand in a vague gesture.
"Barged in on you?" he finished for her, unabashed. "In that case, you can wash me." He gave the gel back to her and turned around. "You can start with my back."
"Wa-wash you?" Elizabeth turned around, then stood stock still with the tube of gel in her hand. She stared, dumbstruck, at his broad-shouldered, muscular back and the tightest buns she'd ever seen. His arms were muscular as well. So were his long legs. Both were sprinkled with short, dark hair that lay plastered to his skin by the shower sprays.
Max glanced over his shoulder with a knowing smile. "What're you waiting for? C'mon, squeeze some gel into your hands and lather up."
Except for the trembling that came from deep within her, Elizabeth didn't move. She stared, dry-mouthed, at Max's magnificent male body. Finally, unsure of how to extricate herself from the embarrassing situation and still retain a shred of dignity, Elizabeth complied and squeezed a blob of gel into her hand.
When she had a mound of thick lather in her palms, she hesitated, staring at the expanse of bare skin, just inches from her nose. Rivulets of water streamed down Max's back. His skin was several shades darker than hers and had an olive undertone, but it had a rosy glow from the warm spray. A dark mole near his right shoulder blade was the only blemish on that rippling expanse of golden skin.
Dear God, he was gorgeous, Elizabeth thought helplessly.
Sucking in a deep breath, she gathered her courage and placed her lathered palms flat against his spine. Slowly she ran her hands over his back and shoulders in a circular motion.
"Mmm, that feels good," Max praised. "Now lower."
He stood with his arms out to each side, his feet braced wide. Like some potentate waiting for his handmaiden to do his bidding, Elizabeth told herself, trying her best to whip up some indignation.
The effort failed miserably.
Staring at those tight buns, she felt a wave of heat wash over her from her toes all the way to her hairline. When she cupped her hands over the firm flesh she almost went weak in the knees. Hesitantly, her sudsy hands traveled over his slick skin, swirling, massaging, squeezing. They traveled over the hard mounds of his buttocks, the sides of his narrow hips.
Emboldened by the sounds of pleasure he made, she reached around him. Her fingertips danced over the points of his hip bones, the hollow just beneath them, edged lower…
Losing her nerve, Elizabeth snatched her hands back and retreated.
To cover her embarrassment, she quickly bent her knees and began to work her way down his legs, front and back, all the way to his toes.
"Hmm. Nice." Taking her by surprise, Max turned, reached down and grasped her elbows, bringing her to her feet. "Almost done," he said in a raspy whisper. His azure gaze burned into her. "Now wash my front."
"Your front? Oh, but I could' n—"
"Just do it." He took her hands and placed them on his chest. "Wash me, Elizabeth."
Confused, aroused beyond all rational thought, Elizabeth stared up at him, unable to speak. Max's tough face was flushed with passion, tightly held in check. His blue eyes had darkened almost to navy and burned with desire. She swallowed hard.
Hesitant and unsure of herself, she placed her hands flat against him. Almost of their own accord, her fingers threaded through the mat of hair on his chest. Max sucked in a sharp breath when her fingertips grazed the tiny nipples buried in the thatch. Instantly, Elizabeth jerked her hands away.
"Don't stop." His voice was harsh, almost guttural. Grasping her wrists, he pulled her hands back into contact with his body.
Trembling so hard she was afraid her knees would give way, Elizabeth washed hard pectorals, bulging biceps, hairy underarms. Her gaze still held by his hypnotic blue stare, she ran her hands over his ribs, his diaphragm, her fingers swirling around his belly button, dancing over his hip bones, caressing every inch of him except for that most intimate part.
"Touch me," Max ground out. Taking her hands in his, he placed them on his aroused member. He groaned and gritted his teeth as her slender fingers closed delicately around him.
Elizabeth's eyes closed, only to snap open again when he growled, "Look at me."
Again her gaze was caught by his, and as her fingers gently washed and caressed him, the very air between them seemed to pulse and shimmer, like heat waves rising off the desert floor.
Elizabeth felt as though she were melting from the inside out, her body on fire with an intense longing that she'd never experienced before.
All at once, as though unable to tolerate the exquisite torment a moment longer, Max removed her hands from his body. "Time to rinse," he announced, and supporting her with one arm around her waist, he turned to allow the shower spray to hit him.
Mounds of lather sluiced down their bodies and disappeared down the drain. When the water ran clear again Max turned Elizabeth to face him. "You set me on fire," he whispered. "Did you know that?"
Incapable of speech, she shook her head.
"I've wanted to do this from the first time that I met you. I can't tell you how disappointed I was when I learned you were married."
Putting his hands on either side of her waist, Max lifted her above his head, as easily as he would a child.
Instinctively, Elizabeth clutched his shoulders for balance.
"Put your legs around me," Max ordered in the same sensual whisper, and she obeyed as he turned and pressed her back against the inner tile wall of the shower stall.
Holding her gaze, he lowered her, letting her slide slowly down the slippery tile. "Oh!" She sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes widened when she felt his sex nudge that most sensitive part of her. The part that burned and throbbed with need. Unknowingly, she dug her fingernails into Max's flesh.
He continued to let her slide down the wall, entering her with excruciating slowness. All the while his gaze remained locked with hers. Elizabeth could feel herself stretching, his rigid shaft filling her until at last she was seated to the hilt.
For a moment neither of them moved or spoke. Breathing hard, they simply stared at each other, locked in the most intimate of embraces. Finally Max leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. "Hello, wife," he whispered against her lips.
Then he began to move. Slowly at first, but with each thrust of his hips the rhythm grew stronger, faster, more insistent.
Elizabeth was so completely out of her depth all she could do was curl her arms around Max's neck, bury her face against the top of his shoulder and hold on. Their mating was the most unconventional, most erotic, most intensely pleasurable experience of her life. She'd had no idea that sex could be like this. So wild and free. So acutely pleasurable. So perfect.
Awash with so many sensations, Elizabeth felt as though she might explode from sensory overload. All at the same time, she was aware of the slick, cold tiles at her back, the warm spray of water coming from several directions, the heat and hardness of Max's body, the hairiness of his chest abrading her nipples, the satiny friction of their slippery skin sliding together.
Vaguely, Elizabeth heard the sounds of water spraying, their labored breathing, her pulse thundering in her ear. Mostly though, she was so caught up in the ever-building pleasure that conscious thought or reason was beyond her. A prisoner of her own desire, she could do nothing but experience the heavenly sensations roaring through her slender body.
Max was in no better shape. With single-minded purpose, he drove into her again and again, following that age-old instinct to mate. To seek the ultimate physical pleasure. His hands cupped her bottom and a small guttural sound tore from his throat, punctuating each thrust of his hips.
The feelings pounding through Elizabeth were so blissful, they were almost pain. The pleasure was too intense to last, yet their bodies kept striving, and striving, driving for that pinnacle that beckoned.
The end, when it came for Elizabeth, exceeded anything she'd ever exper
ienced. She could not have stopped the keening cry that escaped her throat had she been aware of it. The exquisite pleasure pierced her to her very soul.
Her climax seemed to trigger Max's, and he pressed hard into her, a low growling sound rumbling from him.
They collapsed against each other, wrung out, used up, too exhausted to move. Arms and legs still wrapped around Max, Elizabeth was limp as a cooked noodle.
He leaned heavily against her, pressing her back to the cool tiles. His ragged breathing rasped in her ear.
"Are you all right?" he managed to say after a while.
"I—I think so," she whispered back, not moving.
With care, Max eased back and looked at her. He smoothed a strand of wet hair off her face. "You sure?"
As the pleasure faded to memory, embarrassment began to seep back in. Elizabeth could feel it gathering heat and rising up over her chest and neck. She ducked her head. "Yes. You … you can put me down now."
Max complied, but when her feet touched the shower floor she was so wobbly her knees would have buckled if he hadn't kept his arm around her.
"Here, let me help you wash again," Max offered, and before she could refuse or object he washed first her, then himself, thoroughly. He did the chore so casually and efficiently, as they rinsed off Elizabeth wondered how many other women he'd showered with before her. The sobering thought brought her back to earth with a thump.
Glad to escape the intimacy of the glassed-in stall, Elizabeth stepped out and grabbed a towel from the warming rack and made quick work of drying her body, all the while keeping her gaze averted from Max. When done, she slipped into one of the thick terry-cloth robes that the hotel provided and tied the sash tightly around her waist.
While Max followed suit, she picked up a large round brush and the hair dryer and began to style her hair, with perhaps more vigor than normal. The sound of the dryer produced a barrier that shielded her from conversation, for which she was profoundly grateful.
Shaken by her response to Max's lovemaking, she wanted nothing more at that moment than to escape somewhere by herself and think.
As though the powers that be were listening to her thoughts, at that moment the telephone rang.
"I'll get it in the sitting room," Max said, raising his voice to be heard over the dryer's blast and gesturing as he strode out of the bathroom.
Elizabeth hurried to finish styling her hair. When she turned off the dryer she peeked out of the bathroom door. There was no sign of Max, though she could hear the murmur of his voice coming from the next room. Taking advantage of his absence, she slipped out of the enveloping bathrobe and donned her panties and bra and the long skirt and sweater she had chosen earlier.
Feeling more confident and a bit calmer now that she was clothed, she sat down at the dressing table in the bedroom. She had just started applying her makeup when Max returned.
"That was Troy," he informed her. "He'll be here in ten minutes or so. We need to go over our strategy before we leave for the two o'clock meeting with our client."
"I see," Elizabeth said, still not looking directly at him. She could not, however, avoid seeing his reflection in the dressing table mirror.
Without one iota of self-consciousness, he took off the robe and tossed it on a chair. Elizabeth told herself to look away, but she could not drag her gaze from his reflection. She caught her breath at the sight of him striding naked across the room. He pulled a clean pair of jockey shorts from the dresser and stepped into them.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and shivered. Lord, he was an impressive male specimen. The man could have posed for a Michelangelo sculpture.
But it was more than just his physique that was so mesmerizing, she realized. With every move that Max made—the way he walked and gestured, his posture and bearing, the way he spoke—he exuded an aura of self-confidence and command.
"I know this isn't much of a honeymoon, but this deal is important," Max said. Oblivious to her scrutiny, he pulled on his trousers. "I'll do my best to wrap the meeting up early enough to take you to dinner tonight. And if you'd like, I'll see if the concierge can get us tickets for a play. How's that?"
"That would be nice. Thank you."
He looked up at her ultra-polite tone. "You sure you don't mind me leaving you on your own?" Before she could answer he picked up his wallet from the dresser and pulled out a plastic card. "Here's my credit card. Use it to go shopping."
"Max, I don't need your credit card. And don't worry about me, okay? I'm a big girl. I can entertain myself."
He didn't know it, but he was handing her a lifeline. She needed time to herself to think, something she couldn't seem to do when he was around. It was as though he gave off a highly charged magnetic field that interfered with her thought processes. He was just so … so dynamic and forceful. Whenever he was near her she felt edgy and her body seemed to hum in the most unnerving way.
"Anyway, I'd rather go to the Metropolitan Museum. They have a new exhibit there that I haven't seen. And I may give my cousin Quinton a call and see if he'll meet me for lunch."
"I didn't know you had any cousins. I thought your mother and father were both only children."
"They were. Quinton and Camille Lawrence are my second cousins. Their grandmother was Mariah Stanton. She and Great-aunt Talitha were twins and my grandfather's sisters. Although being late-in-life babies, they were closer to my father's age than to Grandpa Pierce's.
"I never knew Aunt Mariah personally. She and her husband were killed years ago in an avalanche while skiing in Switzerland."
"I see." Max walked up behind Elizabeth, looking into the dressing table mirror while buttoning his shirt. She felt his body heat all across her back and gave an involuntary shiver. "So how did that branch of the family end up here in New York? It's a long way from a 1800s plantation on the Brazos River in Texas to Manhattan. Both in distance, culture and lifestyle. Even as recently as fifty years ago."
"Yes. You're right. Mariah and her husband had only one child, a son named Colin. He inherited what was left of her inheritance, which included a lovely five-story brownstone in New York. That branch of the family has called it home ever since."
Leaning in toward the mirror, Elizabeth applied a touch of pale brown eyeshadow to her eyelids and blended it outward. "These days Quinton lives alone in the brownstone most of the time, but he loves to travel, so he's gone a lot. Camille moves in and out periodically, usually between husbands or during prolonged separations."
Max chuckled. "How many husbands has she had?"
"Four. As for separations, I've lost count. Camille is a volatile person." She slanted Max another dry look. "As you can probably tell, she and I don't get along all that well. Quinton and I, on the other hand, are great pals."
"In that case, I think you should give him a call. And take the card, anyway, in case you change your mind about shopping," he insisted, and stuffed the credit card in her purse.
Elizabeth made good her escape before Troy showed up. In the cab on the way to the museum she debated about calling her cousin. She wasn't in the mood for company, but it seemed incredibly sad to be all alone on her honeymoon. In the end she placed the call.
Though he had returned home just the day before, Quinton was packing to leave on another trip and couldn't go museum-hopping with her, but they made arrangements to meet for lunch at a charming little bistro that he recommended.
The talk of food made Elizabeth realize that she hadn't eaten anything solid since the wedding buffet the day before, if you counted the few bites she'd had as eating. She stopped at one of her favorite cafés for breakfast, then, despite the freezing temperature, she walked the rest of the way to the museum.
For the next few hours Elizabeth roamed around the various exhibits. Museum-browsing was one of her favorite things to do, but by the time she left she could not have told you what she had just seen.
No matter how much she tried, she could not get Max and the sizzling sex they had shared out of h
er mind.
What was it about him that had produced such a reaction? she wondered. She had never behaved so … so wantonly with anyone in her entire life. And with a man who was almost a stranger, for God's sake.
She had entered into the marriage expecting to endure their sexual encounters much as a Victorian lady would, to grit her teeth and bear it as a wifely duty. Instead, Max had merely to touch her and all sense of decorum and propriety went flying right out of her head.
She didn't understand it. Sex with Edward had been pleasant enough. At least in the beginning of their marriage. But at no time had their lovemaking rocked her world. The physical part of their marriage had been something she could take or leave.
She arrived at the restaurant before Quinton, which was typical. She'd never known her cousin to be on time in his life. Seated at one of the fireside tables, Elizabeth was sipping hot tea and looking over the menu when he rushed in, full of apologies and oozing charm, which was also typical.
"Hi, doll. So sorry I'm late. The traffic was hellish. I hate driving in the city. Then I had the devil's own time finding a parking place." Quinton grabbed both her hands and bent over and kissed her forehead. His hands were icy and he smelled of expensive cologne and the cold crispness of the New York winter. "You look fantastic."
"Thank you," Elizabeth replied with a warm smile. Looking up into brown eyes that held a perpetual devilish twinkle, she was suddenly glad that she had called him. If anyone could lift her spirits it was Quinton.
Her cousin was always good-natured and courtly and he had the knack of knowing exactly how to make even the homeliest of females feel as though he found her fascinating. With his blond hair, brown eyes and well-defined features, he was an attractive man. Elizabeth had often wondered how he'd reached the age of forty without marrying. Women were crazy about him and he never lacked for female companionship. A single, heterosexual male, he was the darling of society matrons.
Even as he sat down opposite her, other women in the restaurant were casting covert glances his way. A natty dresser, Quinton wore a camel-colored sweater, jeans and black suede blazer, striking just the right note of casual elegance.