Out of Bounds (15 page)

Under all the smears and smudges, she
blushed. He grinned as the rosy flush crept up her neck and into
her cheeks.

“Have a shower,” he said. “I’ll follow on.
Unless you want company in there?”

“Have a shower yourself,” she retorted. “I’ll have a
sort through the wardrobe while you do that.”

And she did. But she’d finished in
minutes.

Anything washable she carried out to the
laundry. Everything wrecked went straight out the window. She
bundled up the rest of her clothes in an old sheet to take to the
drycleaner.

She left the mystery suitcase in the denuded
wardrobe, remembering the two new matched bags she’d bought for her
trip, now melted and collapsed, and somewhere out in the heap on
the lawn. They’d have to be replaced in the next few days. Although
drawers had been shut and the wardrobe door closed, the reek of
smoke remained a sickening reminder of her night of terror.

But it hadn’t all been terror. Once Anton had
convinced her she was safe with him, she’d found courage from
heaven knew where. Unburdened herself as she’d never been able to
before. Somehow, despite his size and strength and absolute
insistence she stayed in his bed, she’d trusted him.

She hesitated for a moment outside the
bathroom. The water ran full tilt. He’d be under the shower. He’d
plainly not locked the door. Not even entirely closed it. He’d left
it open just a tiny tempting crack.

She put her eye to the gap. Not wide enough.
She pushed with extreme caution.

Wildfire heat rushed through her. He’d joked
about showering together. Serve him right if she called his bluff!
Not that she had any intention of getting naked herself, but maybe
she could catch just a glimpse of him? Without him knowing of
course.

She edged the squeaky door open a fraction
further. The steamy room had seen better days. Somewhere in its
long life, Gran and Grandpa had had a shower head installed at the
end of the big old bath. A glass screen extended part way along to
prevent the water from cascading out over the floor. Behind the
rivulets of water streaming down the glass Anton stood—head thrown
back under the pounding spray, eyes closed, oblivious to her
inspection.

She moved the door open just a little wider.
Enough so both eyes could admire him, but to her frustration, she
still couldn’t see him in any detail; the splatter of water on the
glass below shoulder height blurred his silhouette.

Dared she go further in? Her sensible brain
screamed ‘no’, but some very un-sensible parts egged her on, urging
her to creep just far enough to see more of the intoxicating body
she’d admired before they started clearing the burned belongings
out of her room.

His eyes remained closed. Good—the noise of
the water had hidden the squeak of the door. She took one cautious
step. Two.

Her breath caught, and the delicious pulses
between her thighs became stronger and faster as she inspected the
whole back view of him from his dark wet hair to his size eleven
feet. Bubbles slid down his flanks in caressing cascades. And yes,
his butt was as cute as she’d imagined the day she mentally removed
his jeans while he’d polished his car.

She almost moaned aloud.

Then he turned. A dark blur at the top of his
thighs became momentarily visible. She fixed her eyes on it with
such dread and curiosity she didn’t notice the long brown arm
snaking out from behind the glass until it grabbed her.

“Gotcha,” he said.

She screamed with fright and guilt, and
squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Oh, this couldn’t be for real!
Why had she been so stupid?

He chuckled and his big wet hand drew her
closer. She stumbled against the side of the bath, knowing it was
futile to try fighting him off.

“Dirty girl,” he teased.

“No...”

“Yes. Very dirty. She needs a thorough
wash.”

He sounded much more amused than offended,
and when her eyes shot open she found she was now far too close to
him to see anything untoward.

Disturbingly close.

“Kick your sneakers off.”

“No!” she protested, followed by “Oh!” as he
cupped her butt in his big hands, and hoisted her up against
him.

“Filthy,” he murmured. “Disgusting. So dirty
she needs lots of nice soapsuds all over her.”

He lifted her higher. Her legs instinctively
locked around his waist and her arms clamped about his neck. Her
bare legs in their short shorts slid deliciously against his smooth
torso, but she was frantic to distance herself from the dark blur
that must surely be only a fraction below.

“I’ve got you safe—stop fighting me.”

Her heart beat a frantic tattoo against her
ribs. If only, if only…

“So you want company in the shower after
all?” he teased, moving half a step toward the pounding water. He
seemed a long way from embarrassed.

She groaned and wriggled as the jets started
to hit her and sooty streaks ran from her clothes all over his
clean skin. “I’m making you dirty again. Let me go.”

“Need to clean you up too. You do me; I’ll do
you.”

“I can’t...I can’t...” she wailed from her
precarious position against his chest.

“You could shampoo my hair at least?”

“No I couldn’t.”

“Yes you could. Shampoo’s right there.” He
nodded across at the corner shelf.

“No...” she moaned, gazing down into his
wicked blue eyes.

“Well,
I
can’t do it. I’ve already got
my hands full.” He gave her butt a small squeeze, and a distracting
surge of slippery warmth flickered between her thighs. His slow
smile made her feel bathed in sunshine, caressed by silk, touched
by everything sensuous and wonderful. Especially there.

“Or you could kiss me?” he whispered.

Had she really heard that over the hissing
water? Maybe she’d imagined it?

His mouth was only inches from hers. So
tempting.

“No I couldn’t,” she murmured, leaning
forward out of the water. She stroked her fingers down his jaw
line. His magnetism drew her inevitably nearer. The warm wet
sensation in her panties intensified.

She stared down at the tiny water droplets
caught in his dark lashes...every miniature jewel sparkling and
twinkling in the overhead light.

She sampled the scratch and scrape of his
newly shaved whiskers with her questing hands.

Smelled the soap mingling with fire-scent as
her mouth drew closer and closer to his.

Finally, she lowered her face the last tiny
distance with a choking cry of need and desire—lips parted to claim
his, crushing down with desperation as flames danced through her,
and untold years of terror and frustration started releasing their
strangling hold.

She wanted. She wanted. She wanted.

She writhed against him. The skin-to-skin
ratio shot to new and dizzying heights.

“God!” she gasped between juicy kisses.
“Anton...”

“So there we were in the shower,” she said,
having called in to her old flat after Hallie and Bren returned
from work. “Him starkers, me wearing not much, and stinking like a
bonfire.”

“You’re very perky for someone who nearly
died,” Bren observed.

“Showering with a hunk like Anton would perk
me up for sure,” Hallie claimed.

Jetta smiled, happy to let them think that
she and Anton were an item, even if it wasn’t quite true—yet. Happy
to be alive was closer to the mark.

He’d finally set her down, and she’d turned
away in confusion while he rinsed himself off, grabbed a towel, and
wrapped it around his hips. He’d left her pierced by aching lust
and acute embarrassment in more-or-less equal measures, assuring
her he’d be next door at number seventeen for a while.

He’d meant her to visit him in the
bathroom—she was sure of that now. And she’d taken his bait like a
silly little fish. Was she really so predictable? So easy to read?
So desperate?

“The thing is,” she said, taking a sip of the
coffee Bren had just handed her, “my decent clothes are at the
drycleaners, and he’s taking me out for dinner to celebrate being
alive and all that.”

“My red strapless,” Hallie said without
hesitation.

“Or my pewter backless?” Bren offered.

“Try them both on,” they chorused.

“Have you got some good undies left?”

“All in the wash,” Jetta admitted.

Bren and Hallie swapped meaningful
glances.

“Well, it’s a bit early to be handing them
over, but we bought you some pretties as a ‘good luck in New York’
pressie,” Bren said. “Maybe we should give them to you now?”

“As a sort of ‘good luck with Anton’ gift,”
Hallie said slyly. “And won’t the grey lace one be fantastic with
your pewter backless?” she squealed at Bren as she bustled away to
collect the package.

Jetta untied the ribbon, and four tiny thong panties
cascaded from the paper, each a wispy masterpiece in seduction. Her
eyes prickled with happy tears. “You two are just the best,” she
said. “Remind me again why I’m leaving you?”

When she returned to number fifteen, she
sniffed. The air smelled curiously sweet.

“Smoke deodorizer,” Anton said, glancing up
from his laptop. “A sort of fog gun. You won’t notice it by
tomorrow.”

“It’s amazing. You wouldn’t know there’d been
a fire—except I’ve lost all my stuff.”

He eyed the bag she carried. “Been buying
something foxy to tempt me with?”

“Won’t I tempt you otherwise?”

“Babes, you tempted me in an old T-shirt and
your grandfather’s hat. You tempted me in a filthy nightgown with
my shoulder just about killing me. You could probably tempt me in a
mustard yellow straightjacket and aviator goggles.”

She collapsed with giggles at the picture
he’d described. “Good to know,” she said. “But I think I can come
up with something slightly more attractive.”

“I’ve booked for seven, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, glancing at her watch.
Then she heard the six o’clock news theme trumpeting out on the
sitting room TV.

She had less than an hour to turn herself
into someone beautiful enough for the most gorgeous man she’d ever
met. And she had to do it with a borrowed dress, gift panties,
smoked-out shoes, and bargain priced makeup chosen in a hurry from
the supermarket.

Her heart stuttered when she thought about
the evening ahead. Not the dressing up—that would be easy enough.
No, it was what followed. Would Anton really do it? One moment her
body wanted to and her brain told her it wasn’t possible. Then
she’d find steely resolve from somewhere, only to find her body
tensing and tightening and reneging on the deal. She’d been living
on the very edge of her nerves all day.

It had been bad enough waking in his bed,
exhausted and confused, and discovering the searing nightmare of
the fire had been for real. That her possessions were gone, and the
links to her past consumed by the voracious flames.

The same flames that had nearly taken her
life.

But the next step felt bigger than any of it.
She’d never been sensual with a man. Never truly embraced her
womanhood. Her one-time drunken grapple didn’t count. She’d been
acutely ashamed the moment that was over, and wondered how she’d
dredged up the courage to tell Anton about it. About any of it—her
single woeful attempt at sex, or the shocking experiences with her
uncle.

Everything depends on Anton. Poor Anton!

The next few hours would either turn her into the
woman she hoped to be, or fling her back into her childhood terror.
If it was the latter, she’d know there was truly no escape for
her.

Anton wolf whistled as she halted in the
doorway. Flimsy smoke grey fabric swirled around her thighs and
finished well short of her knees. The criss-cross pleating of the
high-necked bodice was disappointingly unrevealing, but it would be
no hardship having to imagine her pretty breasts across the dinner
table for a couple of hours.

Yet again, the heaviness hit his groin. Hot
excitement had pulsed there all day, fading and returning with his
thoughts of her. His thoughts had been damn near constant.

He’d woken ramrod stiff, to find her thigh
thrown across his and her arm around his waist. Easing away, he’d
escaped to the bathroom, leaned his forehead against the shower
wall as the warm water poured over his shoulders, closed his eyes,
wrapped his hand around himself, and gone for oblivion with long
desperate strokes as he imagined the evening to follow.

Now the object of his fantasies stood there
in tall silver stilettos, slim legs disappearing into that smoky
skirt, lips in a glossy pout, eyes made up to kill. And still she
looked like the most lost little girl in the world.

She gave an uncertain smile in return for his
whistle.

“So I’ll do?”

“You’ll definitely do.”

And I’ll be in agony until we’re home again.
Maybe much longer than that.

He grabbed his jacket from the chair back and
slung it over his shoulder, glad he’d decided on a suit with his
casual shirt. Jetta would attract every eye in the place. She
deserved to be shown off by someone dressed for the part.

“I love the harbor restaurants,” she said.
“And it’s a great night for it.”

She turned to precede him, and Anton saw why
the dress was so demure in front. It was practically non-existent
behind—plunging in a deep scoop past her waist. His eyes fastened
on the smooth sweep of her back as she walked ahead of him, swaying
slightly in her tall shoes.

He fumbled for his car keys and wallet on the
way by the hall table, and pulled the front door closed, eyes still
riveted on her as she trod elegantly across to the Porsche. She
stood waiting for him to unlock it.

“Stay just like that,” he directed from a few
steps behind. His voice had turned husky. Had she detected it too?
“Hold on to the car. If every other man in the room gets that view
while I can’t see it, I want my share now.”