Page 46 of Kane

“I do.”

“Then why did you cover me?” She turns to me, resting her chin on the outside of my bicep—easy as you please, falling into showing me affection like we’ve been together years instead of a time frame still measured in hours.

I groan, cover my face, laugh. “When you show me that incredible, perfect fuckin’ body of yours, Anjalee, it’s gonna be on purpose. Not because you’re fallin’ outta your top and don’t know it.”

She blinks again, twice, swallows hard, and then a silk-soft, sugar-sweet, too-tender smile brightens her face, and she traces my jawline with a fingertip. “See? You pretend to be rough and mannerless and selfish and these things. But you are not. You are kind, and good. You cannot hide it from me, you know.”

I shake my head. “Sometimes I wish I could see what you see, babe.”

She lifts a shoulder, chin on my arm, her other hand lazily scraping through my beard. “You will.” She smacks her lips, rolls her shoulders, dismissing the topic. “So. What shall we do?”

“Figure you might want a shower. Grab some breakfast, hit the road. It’s a long fuckin’ way to the Rockies.”

Her mouth twists. “I do not have a brush for my hair. Perhaps you do not know these things, but my hair will take me a very long time to do.”

“How long is a long time?”

“Oh, an hour, perhaps. It is very thick and very long. And I have been swimming, and it has been in this style for too long. But in order to do away with the tangles, I must have a brush.”

“I can get you one.”

She frowns. “You will?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “Tell me what kind or whatever.”

She considers. “No, I must look. You are a very capable man, Kane, but some things are simply beyond a man’s ability to understand.” She wrinkles her nose. “I hope this does not offend you.”

I laugh. “Nah, babe.”

“So. I shall get dressed and you will take me to a place to find supplies for my hair. Then we will have breakfast andthenI will shower.”

“Fine by me.”

She rolls away, her long, lean, svelte body unfolding from the bed. Facing away from me, she stretches again—her bottoms are riding up, as inwayup, giving me an almost bared view of her beautiful ass. Which, as she stretches, lifting up on her toes, goes taut, concave, trembling with the tension, and then loosening.

She comes down to her feet, her index fingers sliding between the fabric of the bottoms and her skin, tugging it free. As she does this, she glances at me over her shoulder. Again, with her skin tone, it’s hard to see a blush, but I’d wager she’s blushing.

“Were you staring at my bottom, Kane?” Her voice is low, and I can tell she’s going for casual when she likely feels anything but.

I meet her eyes. “Damn right I was.”

The closet, between the bathroom and bedroom, is a mirror; she goes to it, turns her back to it, and twists her neck to look at herself. “Is it a very fine one, do you think?” She glances at me, spine in a graceful arch, yellow bikini contrasting beautifully with her skin. “My bottom, I mean.”

Before I can stop myself—not that I’m trying—I cross the room, stand in front of her. Look past her shoulder to her reflection. She looks at me, now. I move slowly, telegraphing my intentions. Curl my hands around her waist, first. She gasps at this, the way she always does when I make skin-to-skin contact. Then, I brush my palms over her lower back. Up, to her shoulders, then sweeping down theSof her spine. She turns her head again, watching in the mirror as my hands carve down her back…

Finally, cupping her ass.

Fuck. My cock goes stiff as a goddamned I-beam in my jeans.

I just hold her ass, for a moment. Over the bikini. She’s not breathing, at all. Looking at my hands on her. Then, my heart thumping so hard and so loud I’m sure she can hear it, feel it, I slip my hands under the yellow material, palming her bare skin. She inhales sharply as I dig my fingers into her, then knead, and then just hold again.

“It’s a work of fucking art, Anjalee,” I murmur.

She untwists, chin lifted to peer up into my eyes. “Oh, Kane.” That lilt, the breathy tone, the rhythm of her words…it slays me. “You make me feel…so beautiful. So…wanted.”

“You are.”

“Never do I feel this way. I know, in an objective way, that I am an attractive woman. I am told this. But the way you look at me, the way you touch me, the wonderful things you say to me…you make mefeelit. And I must say, I like it, very much.”