But he’d face that problem when it arose.
Ducking into the tukul, he grabbed clean gear and his wash bag, then headed over to the shower block; one of the cubicles was already in use as he walked in. It didn’t take him long to strip off and stand under the shower head, his foot on the manual lever that was connected to the solar-heated water collector above which would tip to rain warm water down on him.
It might not be the steaming hot power shower he had grown accustomed to, but somehow, out here, these jury-rigged systems seemed all the more blissful.
By the time he emerged from the shower, towelled off with fresh shorts on, he felt cleaner and fresher than he had in the last couple of days on the road. What was more, he felt ready to face anything, even another night in the same bed as Oti, with their backs to each other as he resisted that roaring need to turn her over and remind her just how good they had been together.
Gathering up his stuff, Lukas made to leave just as the other cubicle opened and Oti stepped out, a long, soft white shirtdress giving way to those incredible legs, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her blue eyes widened as she saw him standing there.
‘I thought you were restocking the vehicle?’ It was only half an accusation.
‘And I understood you were going for something to eat first,’ he countered lightly, not bothering to answer the question. ‘But I see you’re trying to avoid me.’
‘I’m not.’ She tried to deny it, but suddenly Lukas decided he was sick of the game.
There was altogether too much rawness and leftover heat between them every time they found themselves alone. And the more they tried to deny themselves, the more intense it seemed to become. Which was why he found himself advancing on his new wife, revelling in that too-aware look in her eyes as he backed her up to the baked clay brick wall of the block, one arm braced against the wall behind her head and the other by his side.
Deliberately not touching her. Deliberately angling his body just enough that she could push past him if she really wanted to.
Oti didn’t even attempt to.
‘You missed me, didn’t you?’ he demanded, his voice hoarser than he’d expected.
‘No.’ She flushed. That deep colour which disappeared beneath the falling neckline of her top, making his hands itch to follow it. To trace her soft skin.
‘Do I need to remind you what happened last time you lied?’ he asked softly.
‘Do I need to remind you?’ she echoed unexpectedly, making his body pull taut.
‘You do not.’ His voice rasped over them. ‘I remember it vividly. I’ve been remembering it vividly ever since it happened.’
He didn’t know what it was that made him reach out to take a strand of her long, damp hair—tumbling from the towel and around her face as it was—in his fingers. He wasn’t sure what made him twist it around his finger as he gazed deeply into her eyes—this woman who he now called his wife. He tugged the stray strand behind her ear as the jagged sound of her breathing seemed to echo that thing which moved within him. And he certainly couldn’t explain what made him step closer to her again and lower his mouth to hers.
She melted against him instantly. The sigh she emitted was like the hottest, longest lick against the hardest part of him. Driving him crazy and making him ache all the more.
Kissing her more deeply, and angling his head for a better fit, he allowed his free hand to snake around to pull the towel from her head, dropping it to the ground before he slid his fingers into her hair.
He explored her mouth, using his lips, his tongue, his teeth. And then he explored that line over her jaw and down her neck, right round to her sensitive earlobe, and the pressure point behind.
He pressed closer and she arched against him, pressing her breasts into his chest, tight nipples grazing him even through the thin top that she wore. Enough for him to realise she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it, and he lost whatever sliver of self-control he had left.
It was everything he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about ever since that night. Or maybe his whole life.
With a low groan of need, Lukas brought his other hand off the wall to slide down her back, taking his time tracing her spine and over her peachy backside, before reaching for the hem of her dress and pulling it upwards. Exposing one nipple, which he proceeded to take into his mouth, drawing it against the length of his tongue.
‘We shouldn’t...’ she rasped, though he noticed her choice of word was shouldn’t, not mustn’t.
‘Everyone else is already at the party, unless they’re working,’ he murmured against the satin-soft feel of her skin, not wanting to lose contact for a second. ‘They won’t come in here.’
‘I know,’ she managed. ‘We’re the last...’
‘So stop talking,’ he growled, shifting his attention to the other side, and lavishing it with the same attention.
Her gasp of pleasure was so raw as she moaned out his name, and Lukas was lost. So lost in her heat, and her taste, and her scent. With her still arching against him, he let his hand glide down her body, taking his time to reacquaint himself with her. As though it had been years since he’d last held her, rather than a few weeks.
He let his fingers walk over every dip and every curve. Playing with her belly button and the faint swell of her belly, toying with that mouth-wateringly neat triangle before tugging aside the flimsy lace barrier and inching painfully slowly to her core.
‘So wet,’ he muttered, his mouth still full of her. He slipped his finger though her slick folds and revelled in the way she bumped against him already. ‘So perfect.’