Wild With You (Independence Falls 4)

“That sign clearly states you need a shower before entering the water.” She nodded to the list posted below the Swim at Your Own Risk warning.

“Do you always follow the rules?” he challenged.

“I’ve broken my fair share. When I was younger. These days, I try to do as I’m told.”

Brody blinked. He barely knew Kat. Still, obedient was the last word that came to mind when he thought about the woman who’d knocked him over with a suitcase and demanded that he strip by the pool.

But the lust rising up didn’t give a damn. The mental image was already lodged in his head. Kat on his bed, her wrists bound, waiting for him to spell out what he wanted . . .

Turning on his heels, he headed for the shower. With one turn of the knob, ice cold water poured out of the showerhead. He moved underneath, biting back a curse as the shower’s spray ran over his mostly naked body. But the need to challenge her words refused to wash away.

He’d always held back, giving the women he’d dated what they wanted. But he’d never taken. He’d never issued commands. In bed and out, he put the ­people he cared about first. He shouldered other ­people’s problems—­listening, caring, and fixing.

Brody stepped forward, the cold stream rushing down his back. Running his hands over his face, he wiped away the water and opened his eyes. He looked over at Kat. Every muscle in her body appeared tense, as if she were waiting for an invitation to leap up from the chair and join him in the shower.

Her desire matched his. He could see it plain as day in her eyes. Control slipped away, followed by the tight hold his sense of duty had on his life. His world narrowed to one thought—­claim Littl

e Miss Perfect. Tonight, for one night, make her his.

THE SOUND OF running water hitting the cement floor echoed against the tiled walls. Beneath the noise, Kat swore she heard Brody let out a low growl. The man was standing in a cold shower, and judging from the way his wet underwear clung to his body, she’d dialed the lust up to an eleven.

I try to do as I’m told.

She’d been teasing him when she’d said those words. These days, she rarely took orders from anyone. The high-­profile neurologist leading her clinical trial? Maybe. A man she wanted to see without his boxer briefs? Never. She’d fought too long and hard for control over her life to let anyone call the shots.

But seeing Brody’s reaction, she wondered if she could pretend until sunrise. If he invited her back to his room. And if she went.

Kat shifted on the lounge chair. As if he’d sensed her movement, Brody opened his eyes and looked right at her. And just like that her mind bypassed the shower and headed straight for the bedroom. He’d told her that he knew his own limits. But what if she pushed past his breaking point? Would he give in to the raw lust radiating from his hard body?

Brody turned off the shower and reached for a towel, quickly securing it around his waist. Still dripping wet, he walked over to the chair. Her breath caught as he closed the space between them.

“I don’t want a celebration swim,” he said.

“You don’t?” Heat pulsed from his wet body, but his words raised alarm bells. She’d misread his desire. He was done playing games and wanted to go back to his room. Or have another beer, toasting to a successful mission.

“I want you, Kat.”

Those words, on his lips—­they blew her fantasies away. Molten desire rushed over her, every nerve in her body doing a little happy dance while chanting, Brody Summers wants you!

His hands cupped her jaw as she stood to meet him. He studied her lips as if the only question was how to kiss her, not if he should. His lips hovering over hers, she closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss.

“Is there anything I should know?”

His low, rough voice sent another rush of need over her. She opened her eyes and saw his kiss-­me-­now fever staring back at her.

“A boyfriend in New York?” he added.

“No boyfriend.” Logically, she knew now was the time to tell him why she’d traveled across the country. But she wanted to spend a few hours knowing Brody Summers desired her. She was close to cementing her place among the top neurologists in the country, but that didn’t change the fact that once upon a time she’d gone to bed in a house that never felt like home, wishing like crazy that this man would notice her.

“Kiss me, Brody.”

Running his fingers through her hair, he claimed her lips. As if her command had granted him permission to race past soft and gentle, his tongue swept into her mouth exploring, tasting, demanding . . .

She leaned against his solid body. One of his hands abandoned her hair, to wrap around her waist. He held her tight against him, allowing her to fall deeper and deeper into his kiss. She’d never melted into a man’s embrace, letting him take and take and take. But with Brody, she turned to butter. Pressed against him, she felt so turned on, so feminine, and so . . . wet.

He broke away. But his hands held her close, the dampness from his shower seeping into her clothes as his gaze met hers. For a fleeting second those deep brown depths offered a window into his thoughts. A fierce wanting stared back at her. A look like that led down a dead-­end street. The only thing waiting at the end?

Toe-­curling orgasms.