ThisTimeNextDoor (38 page)

“I’m going to kill that dog,” he said through his teeth.

“Don’t you d-dare.” She reached behind her to unfasten her bra but he got there first.

She was so cold. He caressed her back, her shoulders, her arms, willing her to warm up, massaging his own heat into her.

She wriggled out of the bra straps, gave him an amused look, and reached into the shower to test the water. “Are you trying to cook me? J-jeez. I’m not a l-lobster.”

“At least he didn’t get—all of you,” he said, staring at her breasts. They were islands of creamy perfection in an angry red sea.

“No time to take off the bra. I knew skin-to-skin contact was the best way to warm him up.” She turned the valve down a little, stepped in the stall, gasped.

He was already tearing off his own clothes to apply a little skin-to-skin therapy himself.

Chapter 29

THE HOT WATER STUNG THE scratches on her torso, but she didn’t care. It felt so damn good to be warm.

She remembered something about the danger of sending cold blood to her heart, but she hadn’t been outside that long and, unlike Zeus, she had plenty of natural insulation.

Her boots were ruined, though. She’d fallen into the creek. It was shallow, but wet was wet. Her toes tingled under the hot water, which she hoped was a good sign. To hell with her boots—she couldn’t buy new feet. Suddenly remembering the climbers on Mt. Everest with black toes, she bent over and massaged them while the water poured over her head.

The shower door opened; Mark’s foot appeared next to hers.

Not entirely surprised—okay, not surprised at all—she stood up, admiring him on the way up.

“Hi,” she said.

Eyes searching hers, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his long, hard body. He tilted her so the water fell on her back and shoulders, stroking his hands along her bottom, up her spine. “We need to get you warm.”

“Mmm.” She wriggled closer, put her cheek on his chest.

“Are you warm?”

She laughed against his chest hair. “Getting there.”

“When you are, let me know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to chew you out for risking your life for my mother’s stray mutant.”

“Ah, honey, don’t put yourself down like that,” she said.

Growling, he caught her ass in both hands and ground closer. “I’m serious,” he said in her ear. “You’re too important.”

Important?
“The creek’s about six inches deep.”

“There are rocks. You could’ve hit your head.”

She reached up and touched his temple. “I think you already did.”

Gazing at her, he moved back, pulling her eyes out of the spray of the water. “Yeah. Maybe I did.”

The feel of his erection on her belly began to appeal to her more than the hot water. “I think I’m okay now.”

Frowning, he captured her hand, lifted it to his mouth. “Frostbite is serious.” One by one he sucked her fingers into his mouth. Around her thumb, he said, “I wouldn’t want to lose any of you. Not even an inch.”

Speechless, her muscles giving way to the massaging heat, the desire building inside her, she swayed against him.

He bent his head to her ear. “I want to get you in bed but I’m afraid you might get cold again.” His voice was low, rough. He kissed his way across her forehead to the other side. “I’ll have to make sure I keep you warm.” He sucked the earlobe into his mouth. “Hot.”

Her hand found the water valve at her back, shut it off.
 

He grabbed a towel he must’ve hung over the glass wall of the shower and draped it over her shoulders. Patting her skin, he stopped when he reached her chest, his eyes getting serious. “You need some first aid.”

“You need a towel.” She traced the water droplets on his muscled shoulder, over his collar bone. “You’re shivering.”

Shaking his head, he tightened her towel around her and stroked her hair. Water dripped down her back. “We’ll have to deal with your hair. You shouldn’t have a wet head.”

“I’m fine, Mark.”

“Look at this.” He frowned at her throat, his touch feather light on one of the scratches. “And this. I always hated that dog.” He leaned back, gently touching other marks, his jaw tight.

“He’s awesome, and worth a few scratches.” She pushed open the shower door, tugged free of his concerned grip to reach for another towel on the hook. She handed it to him but he squatted down and dried her legs with it.

“I’ll get you some hot tea, coffee, chocolate, everything,” he said.

Smiling, she watched him, naked and dripping wet himself, dab at her toes one by one with the thick, dark-green towel. She waited until he seemed satisfied before stepping away to finally get him a towel of his own.

He pushed it away. “You need one for that hair. It’s dripping. You’ll get cold again.”

“I’m getting cold looking at you.” She flung the towel around his shoulders and pulled it tight, smiling up at him, letting her own towel gape open in front.

He stood still, gazing down at her. His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “I’m having warring impulses.” His eyes dropped down to her breasts, between her legs. Then he pulled the edges of her towel together, covering her, and turned away to dry himself with quick, efficient strokes. “There’s a hair dryer under the sink. I’ll get the first aid kit in the car.”

Smiling, she rolled her eyes, reached out to squeeze his right butt cheek. “I’m fine.”

He spun around, drawing the towel around him like a bullfighter with a cape, and scowled at her chest. “You’re—you’re—
bleeding
. God knows what Zeus had under his toenails.”

“Snow, I imagine,” she said, but she saw that he was right; some of the scratches were deep.

“I’ll be right back.” Towel tight around his waist, he pushed his hair back with his hand before he reached for the doorknob.

Rose forgot about her injuries and stared. “You are so gorgeous,” she breathed.

He turned, held her gaze. “Dry your hair,” he said in a low voice, then was gone.

* * *

He’d never been so aroused and so close to fainting at the same time.
 

Blood.

He braced a hand on the doorway as he went into his room to get dressed. She probably thought he was a hero for insisting on the bandages before getting in bed with her.

Some hero.

He dragged on his jeans commando, pulled a sweatshirt over his head, marched to the front door and shoved his feet into his wet boots.

The first aid box was buried in the hatch under the snowshoes, but at least it was there. By the time he stomped back into the house, his head was clear. Maybe he wouldn’t make a fool of himself after all.

He kicked off his boots and went to knock on the bathroom door, forcing himself to think of her blue eyes, the blond curls between her legs, anything but the—red—

He sucked in a breath through his nose, stared at the ceiling.

“Hey,” she said, opening the door with a hairdryer pointed at her head. She plucked at his sweatshirt, lips in a mock pout. “You got dressed.” She’d tied the towel around her waist, exposing her breasts, which were lovely, but uncovering the scratches, too, which—

He focused on her lips. That was the good kind of red. Really, really good. Full, sensual, rosy, glossy. He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him, and bent down to taste her.

God, he wanted her. He kissed her hard, driving his tongue into his mouth, everything else forgotten.

She stepped into his arms, kissing him back, but she still held the hair dryer in her hand. When she looked aside to turn it off, he turned his attention to the graceful curves of her ear, her silky neck, the long strands of her damp hair.

Still damp.

“Sorry.” He stepped back, rubbing his mouth. “You keep doing that. I’ll—I’ll play doctor.”

Grinning, she leaned her bottom against the sink, facing him, and lifted the dryer to her head again. With a little arch to her back, she gave her breasts a little shake and said, “Yes, doctor.”

Mouth dry, he tore open the ointment, quite sure his light-headedness was because of the hard pink nipples and the large, perfect breasts bouncing in front of him, and not because of any squeamishness.

The scratches weren’t that bad, he told himself. Red but shallow, most of them, and her breasts—oh, right there—had been spared.

With a pinkie fingertip, he dabbed antibiotic ointment on the deepest scratch first, ignoring the droplets of blood. He ripped open a half dozen bandages and lined them up on the counter, but Rose stopped him.

“Only on the really bad ones,” she said. “The adhesive in those will hurt me more than the cuts. I’ve got really sensitive skin.”

He frowned, nodding, gently stroking an uninjured patch. “Just this one, then. The one that’s… bleeding.” Swallowing hard, he dabbed away the drips, put
 
the ointment directly on the bandage, and carefully covered it.

She watched him, a small smile on her lips, the dryer’s high-pitched whine loud in the small room. Her hair was getting lighter and blonder each minute as it dried, fluffing up around her face in a pale gold cloud, and her cheeks were pink, flushed, warm.

He finished what he could do with her injuries, pushed the box to the floor, stood up. He took the hair dryer out of her hands and turned it off. “You’re not chilled anymore.”

Eyes dark as midnight, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ve never been so hot in my life.”

* * *

A knock sounded on the door. “Kids?” It was Trixie. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I need a few more towels.”

Rose stifled a groan. “We’ll be right out!” she called, trying to step out of Mark’s embrace.

But he was immovable. Well, most of him.

Trixie knocked again. “I promise not to look.”

Rose finally got the strength to break free. Breathing shallowly, she wrapped herself in a towel and waited for Mark, slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, to do the same before opening the door.

Zeus was bundled in Trixie’s arms. “All better?” She was smiling.

Damn her fair complexion. Rose couldn’t say anything, just nod, knowing her face was as pink as bubble gum.

“How’s the mongrel?” Mark asked, scowling.

Rose was surprised by his icy tone. “Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge.”

“You should see her,” he said to his mother, nodding his head at Rose as he waved his hand over his chest. “All torn up.”

Trixie’s eyebrows went up. “Torn up?”

“Just some scratches.” Rose tightened the towel.

“But nothing that broke the skin?” Trixie glanced at Mark.

“Nothing serious.”

“Oh.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“It’s really nothing.” Rose reached out to pat Zeus's head buried inside the blanket. “Glad you’re okay, honey.”

“He needs his fingernails trimmed,” Mark growled. “With a chainsaw.”

“So you
were
bleeding,” Trixie said.

“Just a little. Really, it’s understandable. I shoved him under my sweater. There wasn’t much room in there and I probably squeezed him pretty hard trying to climb over the snow.” One of Zeus's eyelids lifted for a moment before sinking back down. “It was probably more traumatic than falling in the water.”

Trixie thrust the dog into Mark’s arms, almost breaking his grip on the towel around his waist, then grabbed Rose’s bare arm and ushered her off to the side. “If there aren’t any bandages under the sink,” she whispered, “I have a first aid box in the car.”

“Mark got it for me. It’s cool.” Figuring a picture was worth a thousand words, she pulled back the towel to flash her well-bandaged midsection. “See?”

Trixie’s face widened with alarm. Then she gaped at Mark.

“I’m fine too, Mom,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Rose asked.

After an awkward silence, Mark reached forward and patted Zeus—gently, no hint of any hard feelings. “I usually faint at the sight of blood.”

Trixie cleared her throat. “Always, I would’ve said.”

“Only one cut bled enough to need a second bandage. But I just mopped it up with some toilet paper and—” Rose stopped when she saw how Mark had turned white.

“Just the thought of it can bowl him over.” Trixie shook her head. “His father was the same way. Very embarrassed about it.”

“I’m used to it,” Mark said tightly.

Trixie patted his bare chest. “No, I meant your father. He was dreadfully ashamed of it.”

“It’s more of an inconvenience than anything else,” he said.

“Worse than that, Mark. It can be dangerous, passing out here and there.” Trixie looked at Rose. “Just last month I found him on the floor of the living room. Luckily he didn’t hit his head on anything on the way down.”

“I hit my head on
something
,” he said. “The floor. It’s not like we’ve got wall-to-wall shag. Oh no, you need hardwoods.”

Trixie ignored him. “He’d just found out about Blair. I guess the thought of, you know…” She sighed, nuzzled Zeus.
 

That had been the day after they’d spent the night together, after Rose had visited Blair, when Mark hadn’t come to the door.

Trixie had tried to get rid of Rose to protect her son from embarrassment. And he hadn’t rushed out to see her because he’d just passed out.

“I’d appreciate an end to this conversation,” he said. “Unless you’d like a demo.”

Rose pulled the towel high enough to cover the marks. “You didn’t say anything.” Suddenly his alarm over the scratches made more sense. There’d been plenty of blood to gross out a squeamish person. “You should’ve said something. I could’ve handled it.”

His hot gaze raked over her. “What fun would that be?”

Trixie jogged forward and reclaimed the bundled dog. “It’s okay if you want to kiss now. I’ll get the towels and go.”

“Not necessary.” Stepping forward, Mark hooked his arms around Rose and lowered his mouth to hers.

Chapter 30

MARK DIDN’T KISS LIKE A man afraid of being seen. If Rose hadn’t frantically ushered him into the bedroom, God knows how far he would’ve taken it in the hallway.

He tore the towel off her when the door was still open.

She gasped. “Your mom—”