He understood how vulnerable she’d allowed herself to be with him just now—maybe even more than when they’d played, when they’d had sex. So had he. It was the connection between them that had allowed him to open up to her. But he didn’t want to think of what they’d discussed—not right now. No, now he wanted to touch her. Take care of her. Because something in those beautiful blue eyes told him she was as raw as he was.

He swept her hair back from her cheek, loving the way she blushed when he did it. When had Summer Grace Rae ever blushed? Only once or twice in all the years he’d known her, and both times recently, with him. But it spoke even more deeply about the space she was in at that moment.

“Hey, sugar,” he said softly. “You know what I want to do? I want to run a bath for you and let you soak in the hot water. Maybe get in with you. Then I want us to order some food and feed my growling belly. Then I’m taking you to bed.”

Her eyes widened. “What happens then?”

He grinned at her. “Baby, if you need to ask then you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”

Her face sobered. “I think I know you better than anyone.”

“Yeah, you do. Come on.”

He picked her up and she was like a doll in his arms—that small, that delicate. He carried her to the bathroom, where he set her carefully on her feet. She started to move toward the big, old-fashioned claw-foot tub, but he put a hand on her arm.

“I’m running this bath, sugar.”

“Bossy, bossy.”

“Damn right.” He turned the knobs, adjusting the temperature. “Bath salts?” he asked.

“If you’re asking my preference, yes, but unless you want to smell like a girl we’d better skip it.”

“I won’t mind smelling like you. It’ll be like wearing you all over me.”

She laughed. “That was a little Silence of the Lambs.”

He shook his head. “Stop sassing me, girl. Get your bath salts.”

She grabbed a jar from a standing shelf next to the tub, opened the top and held the jar out. “Have it your way. Smell like a girl.”

He took the jar and whipped her blanket off in one deft move, smacking her bare bottom.

“Hey!”

“Are you complaining, Summer Grace?”

She smiled, batted her lashes, then she turned around and bent over a little, making him laugh. “Only at your insistence on using my middle name.”

“You are really asking for it.”

“Yes, but you like that about me.”

“I do, indeed.” Opening the jar, he discovered where that scent of violets came from. He dumped a handful of the salts in the running water, then picked her up. “In you go.”

*   *   *

SUMMER HUNG ON to his hand as she lowered herself into the filling tub, the hot water feeling wonderful on her bare skin. “What about you? Aren’t you coming in?”

He smiled and began to unbutton his shirt, and she found her entire system aching with need as his beautifully muscled body was revealed inch by inch. He took off the shirt and she nearly sighed over the breadth of his shoulders, the light gold of his skin, the way his pierced nipples hardened as they met the damp evening air. Even the simple line of Latin script tattooed down his right side was like some sort of fetish to her. He kicked off his boots, then unbuttoned his jeans and she sat back to watch her private strip show with the hottest man ever born. The only man she’d ever felt this driving, burning need for.

He pulled the worn denim down over his strong thighs, his thick, half-hard cock springing free. She had to swallow another sigh. He really had the most beautiful cock she’d ever seen, so long and thick, the flesh such a lovely pale golden color, the head so perfectly shaped. She squeezed her thighs together beneath the warm water. He moved toward the bathtub, then knelt down on the bath mat beside it.

“Aren’t you getting in?” she asked, disappointed.

“In a bit. But I need to take care of my girl first.”

Her stomach knotted, partly with barely restrained joy and partly in stark fear. His girl? That had come out of his mouth all too easily. Or maybe she was reading too much into it.

Relax. Just enjoy this.

She leaned back in the tub, watching him as he took the giant sea sponge she’d hung over the spout on its attached cord and dunked it in the water. He picked up the bottle of liquid soap and sniffed it.

“Violets, too.”

“Is that good?”

“Oh, it’s very good.”

He squeezed the soap onto the sponge and lifted one of her feet out of the water. And ever so gently he began to wash her. His face was a study in concentration as he smoothed the sponge over her toes, up her leg, and she couldn’t remember any man focusing so purely on her. It made her heart beat faster, the desire simmering with some emotion she couldn’t find a name for. It was some exotic blend of comfort and excitement. And some part of her could barely believe this was happening to her—it was like something out of a foreign film, with the bathroom light touching the hair on his forearms, the muscled curve of his shoulder, and all of it softened by the steamy air. She wanted to cry. She wanted to come. She must be losing her mind.

He lowered her foot into the water, lifting the other. His tender ministrations began again, and once more she was in a state of awe at the way he handled her. When he lowered her foot, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Jamie. Please get in with me?”

He grinned, his dimples flashing, then he stood and climbed in facing her. His legs were so long he barely fit, but the old tub was enormous—she’d always felt a little lost in it by herself—and with his knees bent, he managed. He pulled her to him, turning her body so her back rested against his chest, and she let her head fall back against his strong shoulder. He remained quiet as he washed her, one arm around her waist possessively while with the other he ran the sponge over her arms, then her neck, his touch slow and sensual. When he slipped the sponge over her breasts, she moaned.

“Feel good, sugar?”

“Oh yes.”

He moved the sponge down over her ribs, her stomach, then lower.

“Spread for me,” he whispered next to her ear, his cock growing hard behind her, pressing into her back.

“Mmm, yes, Jamie.”

She did as he asked, and was rewarded by the silky slide of the sponge over her mound. Desire was a sharp ache deep in her body—where she wanted him to be—but his slow, lovely assault continued. He moved the sponge down, then up again, over and over her aching clitoris. Sensation was something soft and sultry, undulating like the bathwater through her body. His other hand came up to cup her breast, his wet fingers slipping over her nipple. She arched into his touch, and he palmed her breast, squeezing, releasing, then squeezing harder.

“Ah, yes, Jamie.”

“So beautiful, my sugar girl,” he murmured.

The sponge kept moving over her needy sex, stroking her pussy lips, pressing against her tight clit. She sighed as pleasure spiraled inside her. When he added his fingers around the edges of the sponge, catching her clit between them, she groaned. He pressed her nipple between his fingertips and she arched into him—her breast, her body—and he rubbed the sponge and his fingers over her clit, harder and harder.

“Come,” he whispered.

Just that one word, and her body shattered. She cried out, shaking in his arms, her body convulsing, sensation hot and liquid.

“Good girl,” he murmured, making her shiver all over.

Small tremors of pleasure still washed over her body, and she undulated against his hard cock at her back.

“Mmm, you do that for long and I’m gonna have to take you to bed and ravish you, sweetheart.”

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Oh, yeah—that’s it.”

He pressed her forward and got to his feet, pulling the plug in the tub as he did so.