His strong, defined chest. She curled her hands tightly around the fluffy towel in case they decided to go rogue and reach out to trace the outline of his pectorals. She couldn’t trust her damn fingers around him.
“Okay. I’ll go shower.” She smiled brightly at him. “Anything I need to know? Does it run cold? If you flush the toilet am I gonna get scalded?”
He laughed. “Not that I know of. And I promise not to flush the toilet. I’m going to make you some hot coffee though. I’ll leave it outside the door, okay?”
“I can come down and get it.”
He looked directly at her. “I know you can. But I want you to get warm, so I’ll bring it up.”
“You’re kind of hot when you’re masterful, you know that?” She turned and walked into the bathroom, a grin on her lips.
“Get in the shower, Lydia.”
“See?” She looked over her shoulder. He was shaking his head. “Hot.”
He closed the door behind her, and she could hear him muttering something, though his voice was far too low for her to make out. Hanging the towel on the gleaming heated rail next to the shower, she pulled her shorts down and lifted her t-shirt over her head.
That’s when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes widened as she took in her wild, matted hair. Dear god, had he really seen her like this and not laughed? He was sweeter than she’d thought for not saying anything.
Five minutes later, she was happily singing in the steaming hot shower as she massaged Jackson’s shampoo into her hair. It smelled like him, all woody and mellow. She took a look at the name on the black plastic bottle. Maybe she’d treat herself to some.
Not because she wanted to smell of him. Just because it was good. That was all.
Once she’d rinsed and conditioned, she turned off the spray and stepped out of the oversized cubicle, reaching for the towel. The room was full of steam, though the vent was doing its best to remove it. She walked over to the mirrored cabinet, pulling it open, wondering if he had a spare hairbrush in there. Sadly it was empty. She did her best to rake her fingers through her slippery locks before wrapping them in the towel.
“Your coffee’s out here,” Jackson called through the door.
“Thank you.” She looked around until she saw her wet clothes in a bundle on the floor. Picking up her soaked panties, she grimaced. “Um, do you have those clothes you said I could borrow?”
“Sorry?” he called out, his voice muffled.
“I need some dry clothes,” she shouted again. “Do you have any?”
“You need what?”
Sighing, she wrenched the door open. “Do you have a t-shirt or something?” she asked him. “My clothes are soaking.”
It was only when his mouth dropped open that she remembered she was as naked as the day she was born.
Jackson froze long enough for his wide eyes to take in her perfectly curved body. When he finally looked away his body pulsed with heat, and his voice was thick and low.
“You have a tattoo.”
Lydia looked down at the cherry blossom curling around her left hip. He was struck again by how different she was. Any other woman he knew would have screamed and either covered herself up or slammed the door in his face. But not Lydia. Instead, she was looking back up at him, her eyes soft.
“Cherry blossoms were my mom’s favorite. She went to the festival in Washington every year. I got it on my twenty-first birthday while in Japan.” She slowly untwisted the towel on her head, the movement lifting the perfect swell of her breasts. When she pulled the towel around to cover her body, he wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or grateful.
“It’s pretty.” He hardly recognized his voice. He really needed to stop looking at her like this. She was a guest in his house. Autumn’s sister. Verboten. “I have one, too.”
“A cherry blossom?” She tucked the end of the towel in over her breasts. Even covered up, her body made his blood feel thick and heavy.
“No. An eagle.”
She laughed. “Let me see.”
“Now?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Yeah, now. You saw mine.”