She took a step back and, using the same towel, blotted her face. Simon held out his hand and she gave the towel over to him.
“I can do this myself,” she said, echoing his earlier declaration.
“I know.” He eased the towel over the length of her neck, across the delicate line of her collarbone, into the valley created by her breasts. Simon made sure only the cotton cloth touched her skin. He moved behind her and slowly, carefully dried her shoulders and the expanse of sweet skin along her spine. He knelt on one knee and drew the towel along her thighs, the backs of her knees, her calves.
“Turn around for me.”
She pivoted slowly and he once again slid the towel the length of her legs, the material whispering over her skin.
He stood and silently handed her the towel.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No problem.”
At least there wouldn’t be as soon as they got out of this confined space where she smelled too good, looked too good, felt too good. He picked up the candle she’d carried in. The sooner he got her to her room and put his camera between them, the better off they’d both be.
6
SHE WAS IN DEEP DOO-DOO. Something had just happened there in the bathroom, without even a kiss or an overt touch. She’d gone from mere lust to infatuation. Every inch of her knew that it was no longer a matter of if they wound up in her bed together tonight but when. He couldn’t possibly touch her with such tenderness and not want her. And while part of her was keyed up in anticipation, the knowledge also put her somewhat at ease.
Simon lit the last of the candles in her bedroom.
“I have a couple of T-shirts that are big on me. They’d probably be tight on you, but at least they wouldn’t be wet.” She fished out a shirt she occasionally slept in because it was two sizes too big. “How about this?”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll just hold on to it until you get out of that wet one.” She knew what she wanted and she was going for it. Him.
“Were you planning to watch?”
“Unless you object. A girl’s got to get her thrills where she can.”
“I’m not sure that I qualify as a thrill.”
“I’m certain you do.”
Simon tugged his T-shirt loose from his jeans and peeled it up and off his body. Sweet mercy, the man had a body to die for. Broad-shouldered, lean-hipped and nicely trim in between. She felt like Goldilocks who’d just discovered the perfect male. Oh my, that one had been too big and hairy. And oops, that one was too hairless and skinny. But, oh baby, this one was just right. And however cliché it was, she found it incredibly sexy the way that dark hair trailed past his navel and disappeared below the waistband of those jeans.
“You, Simon Thackeray, were built to thrill. I’m very … thrilled.”
He grinned. Not the arrogant smirk of an overin-flated ego but that of a man pleased to be appreciated.
“You want to toss me that shirt you’re holding on to?” he said.
She sighed audibly. “I will if I absolutely have to. Don’t feel compelled to get dressed on my account.” Nonetheless, she tossed it to him.
He caught it single-handedly and sobered. “Are you flirting with me, Tawny?”
“Yes, Simon, I am. Shamelessly.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“No. Not really. I think it’s probably a very bad idea, but I’m certainly enjoying it. How about you?” she said.
“Am I enjoying it or do I think it’s a good idea?”
“Both.”
“I have to go with you on both counts. I’m enjoying it and I’m sure it’s a bad idea.” He pulled the shirt over his head, hiding that yummy physique.
Spoilsport.
But not to worry, she planned to get it back off of him soon enough.
THERE WAS SOMETHING VERY intimate about being in her candlelit bedroom, knowing she was about to undress. “Hold on a minute. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He sprinted back to the den, snagged his camera and was back in her bedroom within a minute. “I want to capture the moment, the anticipation, the preparation, not just the finished product.” Hell, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. In fact, he was damn near certain it was a bad idea. But no worse than being here now. And photographing her was safer than kissing her.
When he shot, he became one with the camera. He could be himself behind the lens.
“You want to photograph me changing clothes?”
“Not while you’re actually changing but while you’re getting ready. Plus it gets you used to being in front of the camera. Just forget I’m here.”
She looked across the room, her eyes holding his. It was a look, one breath away from smoldering, that acknowledged him as a man she’d kissed earlier. “I can’t do that.”
“Can you forget the camera’s here?” He was proud of his steady tone. He didn’t feel steady.
“I think so.”
He fired off a couple of shots, just to get her used to it. She smiled, self-conscious and awkward. “Just relax,” he reminded her. If he could keep her talking, a stream of distracting chatter, she’d also relax. “Do you have your hair up because it’s cooler that way?”
“Yes. But it’s so hot now, I don’t think it’s going to matter. And I should do something with it anyway.” She turned her back to him and pulled the barrette out and let her hair tumble past her shoulders. His shutter whirred. She shook her head and pushed her fingers through it. He shot again. She looked at him in the mirror, a beguiling mixture of longing and uncertainty, and his heart pounded. Was there anything more enchanting, more intimate, than a woman taking her hair down?
“Better?” she asked.
Click. “Perfect. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
She raised her arms and reached beneath the fall of her hair. “Beautiful. Beautiful delineation of your neck, shoulders and arms. A study in perfection. A work of art.”
“You don’t have to say those things, you know.”
“I know. But it’s true.” And it would be so much better without the interfering lines of her halter top. “Keep your back to me and take your top off,” he said, automatically instructing her in what would give the best shot of her back.
“Is that how you get women to undress for you? A few complimentary phrases?” She glanced over her shoulder, laughing, teasing but with a sexy glint in her eyes.
“You’re on to me.” His responding laugh was rusty. As a rule, he didn’t laugh a lot. “No naughty pictures. I just want to capture the line of your back without the top. Move away from the mirror, keep your back to me, take it off and lift your hair that same way. Wait a second. Here. Stand here.” He moved her away from the mirror and positioned the tall triple-wick candle—the one she’d earlier said could go all night—until the light illuminated her back. “Just a bit more to the right.”
From habit, he lightly touched her, to direct her where he wanted her to go. He’d touched beautiful women wearing far less than Tawny hundreds of times, but it was as if he’d never touched anyone before. And he hadn’t. Not like this. Longing swept him,