The murmur of voices reached her from the front door. Then the door shut. She’d bet ten bucks Cal had locked it. Outside, a truck started up and drove off. She heard just the one engine, though, and wondered if Cal had decided to stay. Sure enough, he reappeared in the door of her bedroom.

“Daeg and Tag say hi,” he said.

She flopped back onto the bed. “This is all your fault.”

“Everything?” he asked, coming over.

Yes. No. She wasn’t angry, more...at sea. She always had a plan and it always was a good one. Her plans worked out. Cal wasn’t part of the plan. “You bet.”

He leaned against the door frame and opened his arms wide. “You’re in charge. I’m at your beck and call.”

His small, lopsided grin had her wondering if he’d read her mind. That could be useful—or embarrassing.

Those three words—you’re in charge—were the magic words she’d been waiting for, however. For no good reason, she wanted this man. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Time to take action. Her hair was salty and tangled from a day in and on the water. She liked the way her hair curled after a dive, but she also had salt on her skin and in places she very much hoped Cal would be touching. Kissing.

He straightened up. “Are you leaving?”

One point for her.

“I want a shower.” She paused just long enough to motion toward her margarita and then headed for the bathroom door, shooting him a naughty grin. He definitely brought out her inner bad girl. “Bring my drink.”

“Is that an order?” His rough question had her pulse speeding up.

She smiled.

“Absolutely, beck-and-call boy.”

She stepped into the bathroom, achingly aware of the man following her. She might have only one night—two more, her libido reminded her, but only one where she definitely got to be in charge—so she’d make every minute count. Her bathroom was the first room she’d remodeled in the cottage, because she loved baths. She’d scoured antiques shows in Marin County until she’d found the perfect piece, bribing one of her brothers to drag the heavy white claw-foot tub back to Discovery Island. It was big enough for two, but she’d also installed a rain shower.

She’d put every spare dime and hour she had into this room because it was her happy place, her refuge. From the slate tiles in soothing gray to the tub by the window, looking out over the beach, she’d built out her fantasies. Part of her wondered what Cal would think.

Part of her didn’t care.

He was hers.

Temporarily, fantastically all hers.

She reached into the shower and hit the water before grabbing a stack of towels from the shelf. Rose-colored towels.

Pink.

“Pink? Really?”

She flashed him a grin. “Be glad I don’t make you pose for a photo.”

She turned and leaned against the sink. The white pedestal was a Victorian antique she’d scored for a song and refinished, the china cool and slick beneath her fingertips. How far would he let her push him?

He closed the door. Wow. She’d been close to Cal before—he’d ridden behind her on the way to her place—but this was different. This time, they both knew they were going to get naked and act out their secret fantasies. She’d known Cal for years, but the heat blasting through her was as unfamiliar as it was luscious.

“Strip,” she said.

“Now I’m definitely hearing an order.” His voice sounded rough and husky.

“Make it good,” she suggested.

He didn’t hold back any, either. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

His eyes met hers, waiting for her to take charge.

No problem. She traced a finger down his thigh, feeling the hard muscle there. “Take it all off.”

“You want to help?”

She thought about his question for a moment.

When she hesitated—too many choices—he made the decision for her. His fingers grasped the hem of his T-shirt and slowly pulled the cotton up, revealing the chiseled lines of his abdomen.

“Closer,” she ordered throatily. She could look and touch. Not a problem.

He stepped toward her, until his feet brushed hers, and then sucked in a breath when she ran her fingers over the exposed skin.

“Perfect,” she said as he yanked the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Then he paused. “Should I stop? Or call you mistress?”

The thick ridge beneath the buttons of his jeans was promising, too, and also all hers for tonight.

“Not unless you have a death wish.” Sometimes, a woman had to be honest.

“Piper.” Her name was half groan, half curse. She thanked the powers above that she got to him the way he got to her. “I’m pretty sure you’re driving me crazy.”

Tags: Anne Marsh Men of Discovery Island Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net