Flushed (11 page)

“Looks worse than it is,” he said, smiling.

It was so tempting to smile back. Bastard, bastard, bastard.
“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve found the ring,” he said. “Look.” He pointed at an
area on the video monitor. She couldn’t make anything of the dark image and
didn’t want to think too hard about what she was looking at. Crappy
photographs, indeed. How mortifying. “It’s close enough that I’m hoping to be
able to just vacuum it out.”

She noticed the chilly air in the bathroom. He’d opened the
window. He must have opened a window somewhere else in the house as well for
there to be such a strong breeze. Isabelle looked at the heavy-duty rubber
gloves next to Kim’s toolbox, the rag stuffed into the drainpipe on the floor
and the respirator mask hanging around his neck and thought about the toxins
his job exposed him to. How could he face it, day after day? She shivered.

“I’d never have thought of using a vacuum.”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

She smiled in spite of herself.

“Yes,” she said, “it does.”

Kim scraped the old wax gasket in preparation for
reinstalling Isabelle’s toilet, glad to have found the ring for her and tucked
it safely away in a plastic bag in the pocket of his coveralls, and that
plumbing was a straightforward proposition—something he did well. It beat
wondering where he had gone wrong with Isabelle.

He installed a new wax gasket on the bowl’s bottom and
puttied the edges before placing it over the drainpipe. A firm press and a bit
of a twist and it was down. He leveled it and tightened the washers and nuts
onto the bolts.

Some of it was obvious, of course. He hadn’t had a chance to
explain about Jules. He’d been waiting until she wasn’t so mad. He’d gotten her
to laugh, which was a great start, but then there was lots of kissing and it
all got out of hand. He liked kissing Isabelle, maybe more than he should,
though that was a problem for another day. The point was, she was not a
bathroom quickie kind of woman. He was proud not to have made her one.

But in giving her that compliment, he’d sure managed to hurt
her feelings.

He sealed the toilet bowl’s base to the floor. Then it was a
simple matter of hooking up the water supply and opening the shutoff valve. The
tank immediately started filling with water.

The tank lid had cracked during the break-in. Isabelle
definitely needed a new toilet. What the hell had thieves cared about in the
bathroom? Did they think Isabelle was hiding something in the tank? Drugs
maybe? It was ridiculous.

Maybe she hadn’t been in the house long and the whole thing
had to do with previous owners. It was possible.

He flushed the toilet and checked all his seals. Seemed
tight. He put his tools away and wiped down her fixtures while the tank filled
again. He flushed again. Everything looked good.

He packed away the coveralls. Usually he kept a change of
clothing in his gym bag. Just his luck to have already used it this morning
when he was hanging around to open Wall Werx so Damon
Does-This-Make-My-Butt-Look-Big Franklin could go home and have a shower.

Truth was, it was high time for Kim That’s-A-Joke-Bro Martin
to have a shower, whether he still had any chance with Isabelle or not. She had
offered him hers. He decided to take that as hope.

Her shower wasn’t a shower at all. The antique claw-foot tub
had been fitted with a diverter faucet and showerhead assembly. A curtain rod
encircled the tub, along with a whole lot of white shower curtain. It worked
well enough. A brass tub tray stretched across the faucet end, filled with bath
gels and oils and rough sponges and a woman’s razor. An inflatable cushion at
the other end suggested Isabelle preferred the tub to the shower, that she
spent a fair amount of time here. It was an effort not to imagine her lounging
naked at his feet. What a sight that would be. Generous curves, pale flesh and
a wicked smile. Damn.

Not a bathroom quickie kind of woman, he reminded himself.
But his imagination came back with suggestions on how to make the bathtub an
all-night event.

Her shampoo was pink and smelled like flowers. He used the
green-tea bath gel instead. Even if she tossed him out, he’d feel better clean
than grungy. He at least wanted the chance to defend himself about Jules. He
couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Isabelle more convinced than ever that
men were no better than rutting stags. A woman with that much passion shouldn’t
deny herself, even if she denied him.

He shut off the water and started looking for a towel. There
weren’t any. Not so much as a washcloth. And he’d used the last of his shop
towels on the job.

The chill March breeze from the open window made everything
that much more cozy. “Isabelle?” he called. No response. He called again. Surely
she hadn’t taken the towels to spite him.

“Are you okay?” It sounded like she was just outside the
door.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Do you have any towels?”

“Crap. I’ll get some. Hang on.”

As if he were going anywhere. He swiped water off his face
with his hand. At least it didn’t sound as if she’d left him towel-less on
purpose. In a moment, she knocked on the door and it opened just far enough for
a pale hand to come through, fingers gripping a blue-green bath towel.

The only way he’d be able to get it would be to climb out of
the tub and drip all over her floor.

“Can’t reach,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m decent.” He
pinched shut the edges of the voluminous shower curtain around waist height to
make it true.

She slipped through the door, carrying a stack of towels. “I
am so sorry,” she said. “I pulled them all this morning to wash. I didn’t even
think.”

“You’re blushing,” he said.

“Am not,” she said, blushing.

With one hand, he took the two towels she offered, dropping
one over his shoulder before releasing the shower curtain and wrapping the
second around his hips. She hugged the remaining towels to her chest while he
scrubbed at his hair with the towel he wasn’t using as a garment.

She wasn’t leaving. If anything she seemed to be trying not
to stare and having trouble. She wet her lips without meeting his eyes. He no
longer noticed the chill air.

Her blouse was the color of his towel, the softest color
he’d seen her wear, with oval buttons that gleamed like abalone shell. Her feet
were bare beneath her jeans. She looked almost fragile. She was also more
beautiful than he thought he could stand.

“Kim?” she asked, her voice thick and throaty. She seemed to
be finding a lot of interesting places to look that weren’t his face. It was
getting warm in here.

“Isabelle.” His hands clenched with the need to reach for
her.

Her gaze made it to his face, faltering for endless, aching
seconds at his mouth before reaching his eyes. Kim’s endurance was about at an
end. Awareness of her pulsed through every inch of his body. She either needed
to leave now or accept the inevitable.

She wet her lips again, her tongue sweetly pink and quick
and shy. She wasn’t trying to tease. Didn’t matter. He was gone, lost in
looking at that mouth.

He stepped down, out of the tub. The towel gave. Isabelle
grabbed it where he’d tucked it in and held it in place, her fingers warm
against his waist. One of them was trembling. He wasn’t sure which. The other
towels she held tumbled to the floor as she leaned into him, her head tipping
back, those incredible lips…

He kissed her. Clutching. Drowning. She clutched him in
return, fingers gripping his elbow, his biceps, his shoulder as her hand slid
over his arm, over his chest.

He kissed her until he worried he would swallow her whole,
moving down her neck to lessen the risk. Her hair smelled like flowers, her
skin tasted like a hot summer night. She molded against him, her restless
fingers clutching his back, kneading his skin as he tried not to bite hers. Her
hips moved against his. She let go of the towel at his waist. Her hands on his
ass, she brought them together with maddening friction. The towel fell. He
growled. She chewed along his collarbone, her hands insistent, her tongue
soothing him between bites. Direct. Bold.

She might smell like flowers, but she was anything but
dainty when it came to this. He crushed her against the still-open bathroom
door, ducking his head to bring their mouths together, to taste her, to devour
her. She was right there with him, her intensity numbing the rational part of
him that said this might not be the best idea, or at least not the right time.

This was right. It had to be right. Nothing else could make
him feel like this. Powerful. Out of control. Out of his mind with wanting her.

She herded him backward across the bedroom threshold without
releasing his mouth, her breath hot and sweet and wet and urgent. His calves
struck the bedframe and they toppled backward onto the rich, exotic bedding.
Tasseled pillows scattered as they crawled up the mattress, Isabelle on top of
him, kissing as if it was sex itself. He didn’t doubt kissing Isabelle Caine
like this could do it for him. But he wanted more than her kisses.

She sat up, straddling his stomach, her fingers playing over
the faint marks on his chest from last night’s passions. Her skin was flushed,
her lips swollen. And he’d thought she was beautiful before? She smoothed her
hair back from the perspiration on her face.

By supreme effort of will, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Well,” she drawled, “you did leave a wet towel on my
floor.”

The tease was back. His tease. His lioness. He grinned,
feeling tension flush away and more primitive needs take its place. He needed
to wrap himself around her and inside her, to test his will against her
passion. Everything else could wait.

“Some things weren’t meant to be tamed,” he said.

She smiled a purely wicked smile, the kind that had made him
kiss her that first night and branded his brain with her image. Unforgettable.
Unmistakable. “I like the way you think, Kim Martin.”

She slid down the length of his body, dragging her fingers
through the hair on his chest and stomach as she went. As she slid lower yet,
he learned he had good reason to be obsessed with Isabelle Caine’s mouth.

Kim made the most intoxicating noises when she let him. One
of the few good reasons to let his lips go. Not that Isabelle minded the change
in location. He smelled like herbal bath gel and going down on him tasted…

Well, there wasn’t anything quite like it. A little salty, a
little citrus, fresh and sharp.

Today had been nothing but ugly surprise after ugly
surprise. Her body ached with the stress of it. And here was Kim, gorgeous and
naked and clean smelling. Was she sure? Had he not been paying attention? She
worked at showing him how sure she was. A woman only had so much willpower
against the kind of full-bodied lust he inspired.

She held him with her lips, rolled him on her tongue until
his hands fisted in her hair. She backed off, licking his palm instead, loving
the tease of his calluses against her tongue. She licked the ridges of his
belly—she intended to cover every tight, lean inch of him before she was done.

A white scar connected his tanned torso with his paler lower
belly. An irregular indentation marked the lowest of his ribs. A series of
marks cascaded over the cap of muscle on his left shoulder. The man might play
it safe at the gym, but his scars told a different story. His scars said he was
a man who wasn’t afraid to put himself out there, measure risks, take the lead.
Sexy as hell. She licked and kissed her way from one to another until Kim began
pulling at the buttons of her blouse, blowing her concentration. She
straightened her arms, lifting herself higher off the bed to give him room to
work, her hair hanging in her face. The heat rising off his bare skin made her
want to rub against him.

He was smiling as he sat up beneath her, bringing them both
upright, making her laugh.
Damn, I love his smile
, she thought, brushing
her thumb across his lips. Her fingers smoothed the scar in his eyebrow, the
one that had been her final warning before the Mirabelle kiss that had changed
everything. Kim held still, watching her face. His pupils were large, his eyes
darker than before, royal rather than polar blue.

“I make you laugh,” he said. He covered her hand with his
own and kissed her thumb.

“Yes, you do.”

He smiled, rubbing his cheek against her hand. His beard
teased her palm, his rough skin, the back of her hand. She shivered at the
sensation.

“Let’s see what else I can make you do.”

Oh my.

He kissed her, pulling at her lower lip, pushing at her
unbuttoned blouse. The herbal aroma of his shower couldn’t disguise the natural
scent of him. Fresh. Spicy. All male. She let the blouse slide down her arms.
Her bra soon followed. Kim persisted in teasing her lower lip. Gently sucking.
Teeth carefully pulling and scraping. No one had ever done that for her and her
body responded in a rush of heat. She tried to take his lip in return, but he
refused to let hers go. If this was a contest, she was happy to let him take
the early lead. As long as he could engage her senses like this, she could
revel in desire, and damn the torpedoes. No thinking. No looking ahead. No emotions
beyond her appreciation of his skill, his physical perfection, the pleasure
already building inside her.

His hands barely touched her. The feathery kiss of his
calluses lit goose bumps over her arms, down her face, across her back. His
kissing technique was melting her brain, making her skin hot and her lower body
heavy with wanting him. She got closer, arms wrapped around his neck, breasts
brushing his chest. His erection pressed against the seat of her jeans.

She moaned. Her hips moved against him instinctively.

His coarse hand slid up her spine, her neck. His fingers
wove into her hair. She let her head fall back into his supporting hand as he
finally released her mouth and began exploring her neck.

Mmmmm.

She lay back as Kim leaned into her, over her, his mouth
sliding down her neck as he guided her down to the mattress. He knelt between
her legs. His breath misted over her bare breast. He licked her hard, puckered
nipple using just the tip of his tongue.

Her eyes closed with pleasure. He licked her again.

“Tease,” she said, eyes still closed.

He laughed softly, sliding his hands beneath her, applying
firm friction across her shoulder blades. As he lifted her, bringing her
breasts to his mouth, he set about learning how to kiss her to make her sigh, to
make her purr, to make her stretch and sway in his arms.

He kissed down to her bellybutton and the feel of his gifted
tongue against the sensitive skin of her stomach made her quiver. His fingers
made short work of the fastening of her jeans. She raised her hips to help him
ease her panties and heavy denim jeans over her hips and down her legs.