Her back flattened against the shower wall.
Max anchored her to the tiles a second before his mouth slanted over hers. His body pressed a hot, hard melding of wet skin to skin until she could almost feel the water evaporating off her overheated flesh.
His hand left her. But before she could even groan her protest, he returned with a bar of soap. Anticipation curled through her. She reached for the washrag dangling from the showerhead.
He grabbed her wrist, lowering her arm. "You won't need that. Quit trying to take control of the jet here, Darcy. There are two of us running the show."
His hands and soap glided over her. All of her. He washed her, washed away the horror of the past week, carefully easing his fingers over the puckered pink scar on her arm. He swept away memories and boundaries with his broad but gentle hands until only the two of them stood together in the waterfall spray.
So very bare.
Then his hands slid up her neck into her hair as he worked in shampoo. Bold, callused fingers massaged against her scalp and every nerve with such thorough intensity. His eyes never left her face while he watched her, as if he had to see what he was doing to her.
And, oh, he was doing so very much to her.
He tipped her head back, stroked his hands over her hair, swiping the soap away from her face so she could keep her eyes open, as well. Water cascaded down her, washing away suds and restraints.
"No more," she pleaded, wanting him out of the shower and on dry terrain where she could tumble him into bed, onto his back.
He grinned. "Much more, Darcy."
Max dropped to his knees.
Heat crawled up her face at even the thought of such intimacy. The whole standing-up-in-a-shower-stall idea was already stretching her limited—hell, nonexistent—experience.
She gripped his shoulders, her nervousness and breath-stealing excitement warring for dominance. "Uh, Max. This might be a little advanced for me just yet. How about we slate this one for maybe, oh, our third time?"
"Darcy?" He brushed his lips across her breasts, drank from her skin.
The sensation made her light-headed. "Yeah, Max?"
"Hush." He drew harder on one taut peak. "Unless you want to tell me exactly how this feels. Then you can be sure I'll listen to every damn word."
His mouth claimed her other breast. She sighed her answer, tracing the tattoo on his arm with trancelike intensity along the red edges of the rectangular flag.
Diver down.
Hot breath blew across her stomach. She shivered with a rush of pleasure. Okay, she could get into this.
He kissed lower. Lower still until bold hands nudged her legs. Parted her. Tasted her.
Her knees refused to support her.
Thank heaven his hands did. Broad palms cupped her hips, lifted and secured her against the shower stall as he spread her farther with his shoulders. Darcy flattened her hand to the wall as sensation washed over her with each glide of his tongue. Her pulse pounded through her veins just as the powerful spray of water throbbed against her body. Need throbbed even lower still.
Built. Swelled. Exploded over her, sending rainbow shards of light sparking through the water spraying over them.
Delicious shimmers rocked right through, leaving her thighs shaking and her body craving even closer connection. She twisted her fingers in his hair and tugged. "Now, Max, really no more."
He rose through the steam, kissing his way up her body, cupping her br**sts to drink the water from each tip before he grazed over her neck. Finally he met her face-to-face.
"Much more," he repeated, molding his body to hers, lifting her.
Her feet dangled. She was losing control. And it would be so easy to lose control with Max calling the shots. She trusted him. She wanted him. But some stubborn part of her still yearned to employ a few seductive moves of her own this first time. If only she had the confidence here she had in her plane, where no matter what fate threw her way, instincts ruled.
Instinct. The number-one flyer rule—trust the instincts.
A slow spiral of women's intuition as old as time smoked through her. She draped her arms over his shoulders. Instinct guided her foot up the back of his calf. He groaned.