Page 37 of Rocky Mountain Home

What type of vibrator did she have?

And why the hell was he even trying to picture it when he had a perfectly good cock for her to use?

He hadn’t been invited in, though, which was probably why she felt the need for some battery-operated-boyfriend time. Well, screw that. He didn’t fucking care what she had other than it was currently replacing him, and he was not going to stand for it.

If she wanted to get off, he’d be her real-life vibrator, thank you very much.

He made his way silently out of his room, padding down the hall to stop outside her door to be certain he hadn’t imagined the entire thing.

The sound was there. A steady buzz, followed by her swearing, soft and heated, and Jesse lost it. He shoved the door open to find Dare on the bed, her head snapping up to meet his accusing gaze.

She had a plastic object in her hand, all right, but it wasn’t shaped like any vibrator he’d ever seen. Moreover, she wasn’t naked. She had on a pale pink cotton pyjamas top and shorts, the fabric so thin it was nearly see-through. On top of the quilt she’d placed a towel, and her legs were twisted in front of her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

He stepped closer. “What’s in your hand?”

“This?” She held it up, confusion on her face. “A razor.”

His bluster faded like she’d punctured a balloon. “Oh.”

An annoyed growl escaped her. “What’re you doing busting in here uninvited? Go away. It’s hard enough to get at some spots, I don’t need an audience.”

Jesse was trying to knock the images of her using a vibrator out of his head. “I thought…I mean, there was this noise…”

She rested her hands on her hips. “Jesse, get out of my bedroom.”

Fuck it. He’d stepped in it, but meekly walking out of the room wasn’t in the cards, either.

There was no turning off his erection, so he ignored it and headed toward her. “Shove over,” he ordered.

Dare dragged her gaze off his body and up to his eyes, and he appreciated that it took some effort.

“What’re you doing?” she demanded again as he dropped onto the edge of her bed.

“I’m helping my fiancée shave her legs.”

“I don’t need help.”

Screw that. He climbed straight over her, forcing her back to the mattress. His knees rested on either side of her thighs, and with his hands planted by her head, he hovered over her. The temptation to drop lower and press their bodies together was strong, but he ignored the evil lure.

“There’s no reason for you to be stubborn, Dare. Pretend I’m a high-end consultant at one of those ritzy spas. Deliver yourself into my capable hands.”

She grunted. “That’s not a selling feature. The only time I’ve gone to a spa is when I won a coupon, and Ginny made me use it. They put this hot sticky wax on my leg, and I swear they ripped an inch of skin off with the hair. Once I stopped screaming, I left.”

“Smart.”

“It did.”

Jesse had never understood how women could put up with the torture, but he sure appreciated the results.

“I promise I won’t rip anything off.” Except maybe her underwear. He told his brain to shut the fuck up then stole the razor from her fingers. “Close your eyes and relax.”

“And think of England?”

He eased into position beside her, pulling her leg over his lap. “Hardly. Think about how good it is to have someone take care of you.”

If he hadn’t been watching, he would have missed her brief grimace.