Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
FRANKIE
As I stand in the kitchen preparing a very late dinner, the sound of the water showering Miller’s bare skin hits me differently this time.
Because this time, I hear it with full knowledge of what his naked body looks like.
Imagining the spray pounding against his solid pecs that are dusted with dark hairs, then running over his shoulder muscles that nip in at his collar bone, before trickling into the undulating ridges of his spine and streaming lower to the backside that was so firm under my fingers heats my chilled body to the point that my towel-dried hair is probably steaming.
If I allowed myself to think about what might be happening on his front side, I’d likely make news as the first known case of spontaneous human combustion in Warm Springs for several centuries.
I grab one of the containers of homemade soup I’ve taken from the freezer and pop it into the microwave to thaw, then take a glass from a cabinet and fill it from the sink.
Taking a long draw on the water makes me aware of how dehydrated I am from the wine, the flight, and the running around here in the rain panicking because I couldn’t find Miller.
Initially when I saw he wasn’t in the house or the barn, I assumed he must have selfishly gone out, leaving the animals to fend for themselves. That’s why I ran to the stables to check on them without even taking time to put on a waterproof coat and boots.
I assumed he’d behaved like a selfish ass.
But he’d actually done the exact opposite.
He could so easily have stayed in the warm, dry house. But he didn’t. He sacrificed his own comfort for theirs.
There’s a fluttery twinge in my chest from just thinking about finding him lying there asleep next to Petunia, his hand resting on her back.
So, after tonight, not only do I know the outside of him drives me wild, but I know the heart that beats inside him does too. And that my attraction to him isn’t purely superficial.
Surely, any man who would care for Petunia like that has proved himself trustworthy and dependable.
No matter how much I’ve doubted my own judgment since Brandon, what bigger qualifying test could I possibly put someone through than making sure the donkeys are safe in a thunderstorm?
Maybe Paige is right. Maybe I should allow myself to believe it’s possible for someone to simply like me enough to treat me well and not deceive me.
After all, it can’t possibly be that he’s using me for anything the way Brandon was.
Miller seems to already have enough money at his disposal to do whatever he likes whenever he likes, certainly way more than I am ever likely to have.
He has literally nothing to gain from being involved with me.
So it could only be that he’s doing it because it’s what he wants.
My poor, sexy, donkey-saving hero was so desperate to get cleaned up and dry that when we left the stables I sent him straight back here to jump into the shower while I ran to the barn to grab him some dry clothes.
And when I picked out the underwear with chain saws on them, I couldn’t help but smile.
The microwave pings on the first container of soup, and I switch it for the second.
The movement makes me conscious that I still have on my dress pants.
I pull at the waist and squirm. I’ve worn these probably once a week ever since I got them a year or so ago and never once thought they were uncomfortable.
But right now, they feel like they belong to someone else, someone who’d never be at home in this crumbling kitchen.
“Hey, do you have a sec?” Miller’s voice bellows through the wall. “I forgot something.”
I freeze with my thumb still tucked into my waistband.
Jesus.
He wants me to go in there and pass him something?
While he’s in the shower?
Is this okay? Can I let myself do it?
My hands start to tremble, matching the quaver in my chest.
I could pretend I can’t hear him. Or that I’m outside. Or upstairs. Or have headphones on. Or have moved to a small uninhabited island off the coast of Tahiti.
“Frankie?” he calls again. “You there?”
Oh, sweet living hell. Seeing him in there and having to resist him would be torture. But do I need to resist him?
“Sure,” I call back, or try to—the word sounds all froggy in my throat, so I cough and try again.
“Sure.” That’s clearer, but has a tremble in it that he hopefully can’t hear over the running water.
This is all so goddamn confusing.
But here goes.
My pulse quickens as I approach the door and crack it open.
I ease into the steam-filled room sideways, my back to the shower because for some reason it seems wrong to look at him standing there naked, even though we were totally naked together the other day and he gave me the two best, most mind-shattering orgasms of my life.
“Hey,” he says, and my body automatically turns at the sound of his voice.
Shit.
I fix my eyes firmly on his face—a face that looks even more handsome with water running down it and his wet hair slicked back.
“I forgot to bring something into the shower,” he says as the water pounds onto his chest.
“What do you need?”
He beckons me closer.
I take a step toward him, my eyes drifting just a tiny bit lower to his strong neck and broad shoulders.
“What is it?” I ask, glancing at the sink to see if he left his razor or something there.
“Come here.” He slides the door open.
Half a step more and, quick as lightning, he reaches out, grabs my arms and pulls me in with him.
I squeal as the water hits me and instantly drenches my shirt and pants.
“What are you doing?” I cry into Miller’s grinning face.
“The thing I forgot to bring into the shower is you.”
He pushes back the hair that immediately plastered my face and drops his mouth to mine.
There’s no point fighting it. I’m already in the shower, my clothes are already soaked, my body is already lost to him, and my mind is right behind it.
The warm water trickles into my mouth as our lips part and tongues find each other. He holds my face with both hands, firm enough to show how much he wants me, but not so tight that I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.
I have never wanted to escape anything less. I let my fingers glide over his chest, sensing the rise and fall of every muscle, then down his sides, across his abs and lower to his rock-hard erection.
Miller gasps into my mouth when I touch him.
“I missed you.” His hands move to the buttons on my shirt, undoing them as he sucks on my lips and I wrap my fingers around his shaft.
“I missed you too,” I say as he rocks back and forth into my fist.
And I did. I missed him as soon as my taxi drove off the property.
I missed him as I sat alone at the airport.
I missed him when I got to my apartment and it felt like it belonged to someone else.
When I was in the bar with Paige, I wished he was there for me to introduce to her.
And when my flight was pushed back because of the storm, my only frustration was that it delayed me being back in the same room as Miller.
Then he’s peeling my shirt off my shoulders, tossing it onto the floor of the shower, unhooking my bra and discarding that too.
“I hated not being around you,” he says, his mouth following the pattern of the water and landing between my breasts.
When his tongue finds my nipple, my head drops forward on a gasp, my body curves around him, my fingers tighten on his twitching erection, sparks shoot to my chest, my belly, the tips of my fingers and toes.
He slides himself out of my grip and tries to undo my pants.
“Fuck,” he says with the frustration of someone trying to batter down a brick wall with his bare hands.
The thick fabric is so wet, he’s struggling.
“Let me.” I make quick work of the button, then unzip and kick my pants off.
Pausing only to peel off my unattractive black socks, my hands are on him again, sliding around his waist and down over the curve of his sumptuous firm, round ass. He grabs my butt too and yanks me tightly to him, crushing his proud dick between us as he kisses me again, deeper, harder.
Our wet bodies slide against each other, setting my skin alive, my clit throbbing.
“Just one thing left between us,” he whispers against my ear as the water rolls over us.
And his hands slide into the sides of my thong panties, slipping them down my wet thighs. I shimmy them lower and tug them off the rest of the way with my feet.
The second they’re gone, Miller spins me around, pressing my back to his chest, his mouth to my neck, left hand massaging my breast, right hand slipping over my belly, making my clit ache with anticipation that he’s on his way to touch it.
“This is unbearable.” My head drops back against his shoulder.
“Want me to stop?” His hand pauses low on my abdomen.
“God, no.” I claw my fingers between his and slide his hand between my legs. “Don’t ever stop.”
The second his finger grazes my engorged flesh, the surge of pleasure sends my body bending forward and I have to brace my hand against the glass shower wall to keep from falling.
The rest of me fell a while ago, probably the moment I opened the front door to him. In that second I knew there was something different about him, sensed it, felt it in the air around him, like he radiated the energy of my destiny.
Miller lifts me upright and glides his dick up and down from the top of my butt crack to my lower back.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he pants against my neck, fingers moving yet lower until at least one of them finds my entrance and immediately slips inside.
“Oh God, Miller!” I cry as pleasure courses through my veins, my body hums with desire, and I bear down on his hand.
I reach back with both hands, desperate to grab him, to hold on to him so tightly he can’t move.
I find his ass and pull him hard against me as he pumps, his fingers moving in and out of me, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.
His mouth is against my ear.
“I’m going to come all over your back,” he says, right before his mouth drops to my neck.
He sucks on my wet skin at the exact moment his thumb finds my clit and the fingers of his other hand roll my nipple.
“Good,” I pant. “Because I’m about to come all over your hand.”
I have to let go of one ass cheek to steady myself against the wall again because I know I’m about to lose control so violently that I might smash my head into it.
I lean forward, grinding into his hands and clenching my butt cheeks to squeeze his dick whenever it dips low enough.
The combination of his thumb on my clit, his fingers pushing inside me, whatever the hell it is he’s doing to my nipple, and his hot dick against my back, takes me up and up and I don’t want to let go, I want to ride the high for as long as I can.
But when he yells, “Fuck, Frankie. I’m gone,” and presses his thumb even harder against my clit, I’m gone too.
He cries out as he comes, and I think I do too, but it’s hard to know because all that exists are the crashing waves of a shocking climax that rocks me, then rocks me again, and again, as endless as the stream of warm water rolling over us.
Miller holds me against him and releases a long guttural groan as I pass the peak and start the tumble down the other side.
Our bodies rock and slide against each other, the pace gradually slowing as we descend from the other plane of existence we just visited and return to the real world.
“Christ, I didn’t want that to end.” Miller takes me by the hips and turns me around to face him.
His hand goes straight to the small of my back, where he sloshes water around to rinse me off.
“For a second I didn’t think it was going to.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “I thought I was going to live the rest of my life in this small shower with my head swirling and exploding.”
“Imagine how inconvenient that would be.” He drops a kiss in the space between my eyebrows. “The donkeys would never get fed.”
It’s funny that that’s what he immediately associates me with. He didn’t say, “Who would proof the graphics for the Bryant lamp collection?” or “But no one else runs the engagement data like you do.”
He doesn’t even know that person.
As easily as he discarded my corporate clothing a few minutes ago, he discards any perception that I’m anyone except the person who adores these animals, who dotes on her grandfather, who loves this sanctuary with all her heart and is fighting to save it.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe the real me is the one who is here, right now.
Maybe it’s the business-suited Chicago woman who’s all pretend.
“You are fucking amazing,” he says, tipping my face up to meet his for a long, slow kiss that says he knows me.
But is it the real me he knows?