Page 5

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

“Anyone tell you that you have a very dirty mouth?”

“Do I look like I care what anyone has to say about my mouth?”

His gaze drops to my lips. The water running over them intensifies the sudden tingle of awareness at this stare. I have to fight the impulse to lick them. Just as I fight the urge to stare at his mouth in return.

“No, you don’t. It’s still no excuse to talk like a goddamn sailor,” he says.

“I believe in getting to the point as quickly as possible. Equivocating isn’t really my thing.”

“I hear you fine without the extra filth.”

“I don’t think you do. Because here you are, still in my fucking way.”

Something dark and dangerous gleams in his eyes, and a residual shiver crawls up my spine. His chest expands beneath my palms and he slowly exhales.

“If you were mine, I’d spank that dirty mouth right out of you,” he murmurs, his tone once again that deep and mesmerizing quality, which makes me want to stand on tiptoe and strain closer so I can hear more of his voice.

“Well, I’m notyours, Rusty. And FYI, I hate being spanked.”

“Probably because it hasn’t been done in the right way. But I could teach you to love it,” he replies, his eyes raking my face with an intense intimacy that fires up a spark in my belly. “I can teach you to love a whole lot of things, Keely.”

That spark turns into a flame.

For a moment, I can’t define what the feeling is. Then I realize it’s arousal. I’m at once sad and elated. Sad because it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten what arousal feels like. Elated because… well, I’m not dead below the waist, after all.

But this arousal isn’t the kind I normally feel for a guy I want to sleep with. This feeling is different. It’s sharper, more intense, as if it could actually cause damage if ignored.

Which is ridiculous.

I pull my hands away, and he lets me go. But he doesn’t move from his guardian position. I turn around, let the water cascade down my back. My silk Donna Karan outfit is ruined, but what the hell. It feels good to be warm. Despite the guilt and pain clawing through me, it feels good to be alive.

“You can go now. I promise I won’t try to drown myself,” I mutter loud enough for him to hear.

He doesn’t move.

I sigh. “I wasn’t really going to drown myself. I was just trying to clear my head a little.”

“With a bottle of champagne inside you? You have to do better than that.”

“Look, Rusty?—”

“My name is Mason. Mason Sinclair. You can call me Mason or Sinclair. Rusty doesn’t work for me.” There’s a hard command in his voice that impresses the seriousness of his dislike for the nickname.

“Okay, Mason. If you knew me better, you’d know I’ll never do that to Beth, especially not by drowning myself. She… she has a history with water…” I stop, knowing I am verging on being indiscreet about my best friend’s past.

“I know,” Mason says.

I turn my head, meet his eyes. “You know?”

He nods. “Zach asked for my help last year, in how to assist Bethany to tackle her fear of water.”

My eyes widen. “Are you some sort of doctor?”

His eyes gleam again, and he sluices the water from his face and beard. “I’m a lot of things. Are you warm enough?” he asks.

I nod absently, and he reaches out to shut off the water. There are stacks of towels on a shelf next to the shower. He grabs two and hands me one. I quickly mop up the water in my hair and slide the towel over my wet clothes. But it’s no use. I’m still dripping and getting chillier by the second.