Ripper sauntered across the room with the same slow, sexy lope that always caught and held my attention. He pawed through the basket, twisting open and sniffing several small bottles until he found one he liked. “This one. Smells like coconut. Reminds me of the stuff you used back home.”
I held out my hand for the bottle, but he just shook his head. “Nope. I’m gonna wash your hair.”
I sat up straight. Maybe I should be surprised that a tough guy like Ripper would offer to do such a mundane task, but he paid attention to what I liked and never hesitated to do the little things that gave me pleasure. He sat down on the stool, dumped the contents of the bottle onto one palm, then rubbed his hands together.
“Tilt your head back.”
When I obeyed, he smeared the shampoo into my hair, working it from the roots to the ends. A coconut and ginger scented cloud rose from the lather. Nice. With gentle hands, his fingers combed through my hair, smoothing any tangled strands. Slippery and warm, his fingers massaged circles on my shoulders and kneaded my upper back. The tension in my muscles unraveled under Ripper’s ministrations.
The man was a walking contradiction, capable of both violence and tenderness. The same hands that now touched me so carefully possessed an unrivaled lethal capacity. I’d seen it with my own eyes. His strength and ability to do what was necessary made me feel safe while I learned how to handle myself in this new lawless world.
I sighed, perfectly content.
Ripper crossed to the dressing table and picked up an old-fashioned, blue-and-white pitcher. He carried it back to the tub and filled it with hot water from the tap.
“Need to rinse your hair with clean water,” he said. “If you dunk your head in the tub now, it’ll get oily.”
He slowly poured the clear water over my hair, squeezing suds from the strands, then he repeated the process. He wrapped a towel around my head, tucking one end under to form a sort of turban.
“No need to get outta the tub if you feel like soaking longer,” he said. “I took a shower in the room next door, so I don’t need to clean up.”
An idea occurred to me. “Why don’t you go wait for me in the bedroom? I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”
He angled his head, his brown eyes curious.
“I won’t be long. I promise. Just don’t get started without me.” I paused. “No, wait. I take that back. I wouldn’t mind walking out and seeing that you’d...um...taken matters into your own hands. Just don’t finish without me.”
He quirked a brow. “You wanna watch me jack off sometime?”
Jesus. Who says that? My cheeks heated, and I had trouble maintaining eye contact. “Yes, please.”
Ripper’s gaze skimmed over my hot cheeks, and he grinned, his dimple showing. “All right.” He stood up and crossed the room, then paused at the doorway and glanced back over his shoulder. “Long as you return the favor.”
I’ve never masturbated to an audience, but the idea of Ripper watching me touch myself made all my girl parts tingle. I could imagine him leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes pinning me in place as I became the sole focus of his intense, predatory gaze. Oh, yes. I’d be game for that.
I stepped dripping from the tub, toweled off, then blew my hair dry, leaving it just damp enough to slick back behind my ears. I’d noticed a selection of perfume samples in the basket of toiletries, tiny vials of the expensive brands I used to spritz on myself when I accompanied my roommate Ali to Sephora.
Full of happy anticipation, I pulled the stopper from a vial of wild-fig scented cologne. I touched the stopper to the back of my knees, my elbows, the small of my back, and my navel. From a hook on the back of the door, I took a thick, white, terrycloth robe, the kind you’d find in a fancy day spa. I slipped into the robe, ran my hands through my hair and stepped into the bedroom, pausing to admire Ripper. He was leaning against a pile of pillows, a hardbound book in his hand.
“What you reading?” I asked.
Ripper held up the book. “Book of poetry I found downstairs.”
“I didn’t know you were a fan of poetry.”
He shrugged, and a shock of dark hair fell forward over one eye. “I’m not, but I decided I’d give this one a try.” He set the book down on the nightstand and pointed to my robe. “You got anything on under that?”
“I do.”
“You do?” His brows lifted in surprise.
“That’s right. Perfume. I daubed it on in the most unlikely places. What I propose is a variation of hide and seek.”
“Been a long time since I played hide and seek,” Ripper said, swinging his legs out of the bed and slowly walking toward me. He was barefoot. Faded jeans hung low on his hips, and a well-worn Harley tee clung to the muscles of his powerful chest. He circled, looking me over from top to bottom, as if his eyes could detect where I’d daubed on the scent. Finally, he halted just inches in front of me.
“Not the throat.” He leaned forward and nuzzled my neck to confirm his verdict.
“What fun would it be if I made it easy?”
He raised my hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on my palm. “Not the wrist.”
“Again,” I murmured. “Too obvious. Too predictable.”
“Hmmm...” A smile played at the corners of his mouth as his fingers worked the knot on my robe’s tie. When the knot slipped free and my robe hung open, Ripper dropped to his knees in front of me. My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t imagine Ripper kneeling in front of anybody, yet here he was, on his knees in front of me.
“Believe I’ll have better luck with this outta the way,” he said. He tugged the robe off my shoulders, and it pooled on the floor at my feet. He closed his eyes, his brow wrinkling in concentration as he brought his senses to bear on the task.
“Here.” Grazing my belly with his cheek, he paused to taste the perfume at my navel. He opened his eyes and looked up at my face, his expression smug and triumphant.
I nodded, acknowledging his success. “Very good, but you’re not going to stop there, are you?”
No. Nothing but absolute success would satisfy Ripper. Sliding his hands over my hips—his touch gentle, but insistent—he turned me around.
“Here.” He kissed the hollow of my back. His lips lingered on the spot, his warm tongue tickling my skin. I gasped and wavered unsteadily on my feet. Laughing softly, Ripper turned me around again, his grip now firm and reassuring. I clasped his shoulders, clinging to him for support.
“Now you’re making it too easy,” he chided. He brushed his lips over one inner elbow. “Here...” He pivoted his head and kissed the other. “And here.” His fingertips tickled the back of my knee. “And finally, here.” He rose easily to his feet, slipped an arm beneath my knees, scooped me up, and carried me to the bed.
Dear God, I sighed, lolling back onto a mound of down-filled pillows. I’d missed him so much during his two-week absence. I’d missed this, the playful banter, the shiver-inducing touches, the sense of connection. It was nothing short of a miracle that we found each other again while Portland burned down around us.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, stripping out of his shirt and jeans. Naked, he stretched out beside me on the crisp white sheets and propped his head up on one elbow.