He was exceptional, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d brought to his room, touched, bathed, taken to bed.
I wondered—and wished that I hadn’t let the thought enter my mind. I had no right to jealousy. Tyler wasn’t mine—couldn’t be mine—and whatever connection I might fantasize that I felt tonight was just an illusion. How could it be real when we were both clutching tight to our secrets?
“Deep thoughts?” he asked, stroking my hair.
I smiled up at him. “Just thinking how gorgeous you are.”
His brows lifted. “I’m flattered.”
“Like hell. You know you’re amazing.”
“And in so many ways,” he said, with a cocky grin.
I laughed, then started to splash him. He caught my hand. “Hands on your knees,” he said. “I’m going to bathe you.”
I opened my mouth to—what? Complain? Question? In the end, I said nothing, just leaned back on my pillow with my hands on my knees and let him take charge.
He started with my legs. Gently, he lifted each leg in turn, putting my heel on a little step inside the tub that I guessed was made for that very purpose. He stroked my skin with scented soaps, then slid his slick and slippery hands along my feet, my calves, my thighs. When he reached the juncture, he stroked my sex lightly, sending trills of pleasure dancing through me. And then his hand was gone again, as if he’d intended nothing more than a preview of what was to come.
He moved on to my torso, then my arms and hands, sensually massaging each individual finger until I thought I would go mad with the desire for more, so much more. Then his attention turned to my breasts, caressing and stroking until I could feel every touch in every cell of my body, and my nipples were tight with need.
To my regret, though, he took it no further.
“How do you feel?” he asked, and I blinked my eyes open to see him smiling down at me with a kind of sensual satisfaction. “Relaxed,” I said. “Turned on.”
I saw the flicker in his eyes, but if stroking and touching me had aroused him equally, he didn’t say. Instead, he simply lifted a spray nozzle and gently began to wet my hair.
His hands, both strong and sensual, massaged my scalp as the shampoo he chose—full of mint and eucalyptus—saturated my senses. I began to float, eyes closed, this man taking care of me.
I don’t know how long I floated there, lost in that sensual place that Tyler had taken me. I only knew that when my eyes fluttered open, my hair was rinsed and the tub was draining—and instead of feeling cold as the water swirled away, I felt the hot pulse of desire inside me.
Without a word, Tyler held out a hand. I took it gratefully. I wasn’t sure I could have managed without his support.
I padded carefully down the stairs, then stood on a plush bath mat. He stood in front of me, just stood there watching me with the air crackling wild around us. I reached out—I had to—and slowly trailed my fingers over his bare chest.
I felt the beat of his heart beneath my hand, and pressed my palm there. I lifted my head, found his eyes, and almost stumbled from the force of the desire I saw looking back at me.
“Yes,” I whispered. “God, yes.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak, but as I slid my hand down, exploring the shape of him, I felt his muscles tighten with barely contained control. I smiled, liking that I was the one making him quiver, and I got slowly to my knees, thinking that I’d like to make him quiver even more.
But when I reached for his fly, he gently stopped my hand. “No.”
I looked up. “I know you like it.”
“Very much. And I can think of very little I’d like more than to see your lips around my cock. But not now.”
“Why not?”
He held my hand and eased me to my feet. “Because the rest of tonight is about you.”
“Oh.”
He went to a closet and came out with a white silk robe. He helped me into it, the material as soft and gentle as a kiss. I tightened the sash, then drew my hands over the material, enjoying the way it felt against my skin.
“I do like watching you, he said softly. “I like seeing the way your body reacts to my touch. The way your eyes flutter when you come close to the edge. There’s an honesty between us that’s—well, I like it.”
“I’m not doing anything except reacting to you,” I said, my voice soft though the words were entirely true.
“Good,” he said, and in that moment our eyes locked. I felt that clench in my belly, the strong tug of need. My lips parted, and I rose onto my toes, my hand reaching for his shoulder as I moved closer, craving his mouth, his kiss—
But he stepped back, and suddenly there was nowhere to go. I glanced down to the floor, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” To what? To kiss him? Hell yes, I’d meant to kiss him. More likely, I didn’t mean to make an ass out of myself, but I was hardly going to tell him that.
And then I realized. “It’s what you said in the elevator. Despite all of this. Despite making me feel like this, you’re not going to kiss me. You’re still tormenting me, aren’t you?”
His smile was slow and sexy and undeniably charming. And he didn’t say a damn word in answer to my question. Instead, he reached for a strand of my hair and wound it around his fingers. “Christ, you tempt me.” He held out a hand. “Come with me.”
I was irritated, but I was also both amused and turned on. Plus, the only place to go was back into that bedroom, and that meant he was finally taking me to bed.
“Do you remember what I told you?” he asked as he led me into the room. “The things that I like?”
“Watching me, you said.”
“Very good. A gold star to the prize pupil. And yes, I’ve liked that very much. I’ve liked it all—pampering you, touching you. I liked watching your face when the waiter came in. And I liked knowing that you were doing that—sitting there, exposed for him—because you wanted to please me.”
He took a step closer, bringing him into the doorway, but not over the threshold. “I got hard watching you then, did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“Knowing how far you were willing to go to please me—it made me hard. Made me want you even more. And made me wonder how much farther you’d go.”
I licked my lips, but I didn’t say a word.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it? The adventure. The thrill. That’s why you sent me a note saying that you wanted to play—and why you got pissed when I sent you away.”