He stepped toward his desk, and then he heard it.
High-pitched, heartfelt and as flat as a sick puppy. Singing.
She could have danced all night.
Audrey Hepburn might roll over in her grave at Anna’s rendition of a signature song, but Parker Garrison simply froze and imagined the woman he wanted… wet, naked and belting out a ballad in the shower.
If she was a spy, he’d fire her. If she wasn’t, he’d…
Join her.
In two steps, he was at his keyboard, typing the password to access the results of some investigator’s programming.
She hit a high note. It hurt.
He tapped a few more keys and there were the results.
He blinked and leaned closer to make sure he was reading right. And he was. Anna Cross hadn’t so much as touched his keyboard, even though she’d had two hours to raid about four dozen “proprietary” files on his hard drive.
Anna Cross wasn’t the spy.
A slow, satisfied grin pulled at his mouth. He was so happy that he could kiss her.
He walked to the bathroom door, put his hand on the knob and decided he would do precisely that. And anything else she’d let him do.
Anna held her arms out until her fingertips touched either side of the slick marble walls. The dual shower heads pulsed rivers of warm water down her back and over her chest, giving her the sensation of being suspended in between two waterfalls. She dropped her head back, let her hair slide down her back and nailed the final note with a flourish even she had never obtained before.
The slow, rhythmic snap of one person’s applause from the other side of the frosted-glass door hit her as hard as the water.
With a gasp, she twisted the knob that operated both heads.
“Please don’t stop on my account.”
Oh, God in heaven. Parker.
Adrenaline left her whole body quivering. He couldn’t see her through the steamy glass, but she still covered her bare breasts automatically.
Taking a deep breath, she dug for a perfectly normal voice. “You said I could use the shower whenever I wanted.”
“I did and I meant it. I see you went running.”
She remembered her shorts and tank top dropped on the floor outside the shower. “Uh-huh,” she managed to say.
Suddenly, a fluffy towel curled over the top of the shower door. “Here you go.”
Anna glanced down at her body, her skin rosy from the heat, water still sluicing down her breasts and stomach, into the triangle of curls between her legs.
She shivered, despite the steam.
He was there. Parker. On the other side of that glass. And all she had to do was… open the door. Invite him in. Take what she wanted so much her whole being ached.
“Are you all right in there?”
She didn’t answer him, unsure of what she might say, what shocking invitation she might issue if she opened her mouth.
“Anna? Are you okay?”
She reached toward the glass and placed one fingertip on the steam. That was all that separated her bare and willing body from him. One thin sheet of fogged-up glass.
“Why did you come back?” she finally asked.
Behind her, a drop of water hit the marble floor and another dribbled down the drain. Her finger trailed a thin line in the glass, clearing a quarter-inch view.
“I wanted to… check on you.” His voice was low and seductive. And so close. He had to be just inches from the glass door.
“I’m fine.” She made a second line in the fog. “See?”
His five fingertips touched the glass, leaving ovals where his skin pressed against it. “Yes, you are. Very fine.”
She lifted her left hand, and matched his handprint, fingertip for fingertip. “And so are you.” He might not have heard her, since she breathed the words.
“Anna.” His fingers moved an inch, and she followed them.
“Yes?”
This was the part where he made a light joke about her voice or teased her about his shower. This was the part where he backed away and gave her privacy to change alone. This was the part where he reminded her that she had work to do and he was the boss and she was the—
“I want you to open the door.”
Heat and desire rolled through her like the steam clouds in the shower. Her arm trembled, her chest tightened and everything in her that was female curled into a fist of longing low in her belly.
She pressed the door just hard enough to release the latch, but not reveal herself. The barrier was still there, but falling fast.
Through the opaque glass, she saw a dark jacket slide to the ground. The tie, the buttons, the shirt. Gone. She heard the metal click of a belt buckle, the teeth of a zipper, the scuff of a shoe, the soft whoosh of falling clothes.
Blood throbbing through her veins, her breathing already labored, she took a step back, and another, until she hit the warm, water-slick marble wall. Behind her, she reached for the faucet, flipped it on with one hand and both showerheads exploded into a pulsing rush of water that streamed over her body.
She closed her eyes, heard the shower door click closed, and felt the heat of Parker as he stood in front of her.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
She did. His eyes were pure black with arousal, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared with each ragged breath. Water matted his hair to his head and flattened the thatch of dark curls over the valleys and dips of his broad chest. With her eyes, she followed the water stream as it poured over the taut outline of his stomach and finally flowed over a daunting and mighty erection.
Without a word, he put one hand on either side of her head, caging her in without touching her.
“Anna.” He mouthed her name, so softly she felt his breath on her face. “You have no idea how happy I am to know I can trust you.”
She blinked into the water that streamed on her face. Why would he say that?
“Of course you can trust me,” she said, her fingers curling against the wall as she fought the urge to scrape her hands over every inch of him.
“I just… wasn’t sure.”
The idea of Parker Garrison, man of certainty and decision, being unsure nearly buckled her knees. All her doubt disappeared with his admission; all her warnings vaporized in the steamy humidity of the shower.
“You can trust me,” she repeated, closing her eyes and lifting her face. “And you can touch me.”
At the command, he grazed a finger over her wet, parted lips, sliding the tip against her teeth, then following the watery path down her throat. She could hear him inhale with effort and strain as he glided over her breastbone and reached her nipple, making maddeningly slow circles around the peak.
“What else can I do, Anna?”
Her eyes remained closed as she let the silky, delicious touch of his finger send lightning through her. “You can kiss me.”
He feathered her lips, so soft she wasn’t sure it happened. She opened her mouth and his tongue flicked hers. Slow and steady and with remarkable control, he kissed her, while his other hand cupped her hip, caressing her wet skin, taking teasing strokes of the dips and curves of her backside.
“What else,