This was bad. As in, not good. Very bad. Because while she should hate the guy who’d manhandled her and pissed her off with every word he spoke, she could only think about how good his callused palm had felt as it grazed her nipple. Which, Exhibit A, was still hard. Ro forced herself to calm down and study the bottle she held in her hand. It was clear, and the contents were a creamy white. Sort of like semen. She flipped open the cap and squeezed it into her hand and tried not to picture stroking Conan’s cock until he came in her hand. Ro froze and forcibly shoved the thought from her head. Seriously? One boob grab and she was fantasizing about giving him a hand job? Bad, Ro. Very, very bad. Maybe she really was a slut at heart. No. She just had a very active imagination.
Mental tongue-lashing over, Ro lathered her hair. The scent of lavender infused the steam. The shampoo was better than the ridiculously expensive crap Ro bought at the ridiculously expensive salon she had frequented in Chicago. Where she’d never go again. Which was most likely out of business and probably had already been looted. Okay, that was incredibly depressing and got her mind off sex. With Conan. Almost.
Recalling that she should be hurrying this up because she didn’t want to use up all the hot water they were generously sharing with her, Ro moved through the rest of her shower at warp speed. The lightly scented bar of soap felt amazing on her body and face. Thank God for laser hair removal, or Ro’s underarms and legs would be looking a little shaggy by now. And going for the full Brazilian had seemed to be a bold choice at the time, because what if someday she wanted a landing strip? But Ro was definitely appreciating her decision now. She gently soaped up and rinsed her sprained ankle before rinsing the suds out of her hair. Surprisingly, whatever was in that shampoo had left it fairly tangle-free and smooth. Which was no easy feat given Ro’s long and unruly curls. After shutting off the water she just had to let Conan know she was done so she could cover her naked self with a towel. And get dry.
Ro tried to sound unaffected, and somewhat polite, when she called out, “Could you toss me a towel, please?” No reason to act like she’d been raised without some manners. It was amazing how much her mood had improved after she’d gotten a little (unintentional) action and was able to indulge in a hot shower with good smelling soap and shampoo. The simple things in life, indeed.
“Here.” A towel brushed up against Ro’s arm. She looked at Conan, to see if he was checking out her nakedness, but no, he was looking away. Arguably like a gentleman. Or something.
Ro grabbed the towel. “Thanks.”
“When you’re done drying off, wrap yourself up in the towel, and I’ll carry you out so you can get dressed.”
Ummm.
Conan must have seriously overestimated the size of the towel, because although it wasn’t one of those teeny tiny gym towels, it wasn’t a whole lot bigger. But Ro complied, drying off, because honestly, she was starting to get cold, even in the steam-filled shower room. She wrapped the towel around her body and tried to sit on the edge of the seat to avoid soaking it with the water pooling in the middle.
“I’m good.”
Conan stepped into the shower room. He’d stripped off his wet shirt. Gulp. He was ripped. Cut. Defined. Fucking. Hot. The tattoo of combat boots and a rifle that peeked around the right side of his chiseled abs would have been straight up lickable, except it looked like it was a memorial tattoo. Nothing like death to take her mind off the heat gathering between her legs.
Ro looked up to find Conan’s eyes on her. Her body. Not her face. And even Ro could tell he liked what he saw. His dark brown eyes flared to life with heat and interest.
He swung her up into his arms again, bridal style, but the towel wasn’t quite long enough to cover her generously rounded ass. Ro shivered as she felt both cheeks make contact with the inside of his muscle-corded forearm before she slid and the arm caught her under the knees. He paused, as if cataloging all of the places her naked skin was touching his. Or maybe that was just Ro.
Conan moved more slowly than she would have expected out of the shower room and back into the main locker room. His movements were equally slow as he set her down on the bench, his gaze leaving trails of heat in its wake as it raked down her cleavage, pausing for a moment on the bit of towel stuffed between her breasts to anchor it.
Ro knew she had a decent rack. The double Ds got plenty of attention from the boys. Always had. Most of it not the kind of attention Ro wanted. But Conan seemed to like them. A lot, if the trouble he had breaking his stare was any indication. Ro could feel her nipples hardening further. Was that even possible? She dragged her mind out of the gutter and tried to get back to practical thinking. Lock it down, Ro.
She cleared her throat and asked, “Could you hand me my clothes?” She tried her best to sound unaffected, but wasn’t sure she’d actually pulled it off.
Conan finally tore his eyes away from her cleavage.
“You sure you want to put dirty clothes back on? It’s your call, but …”
“It’s not like I have a lot of options. You have my bag, and even if you didn’t, my clothes are all just varying shades of nasty at this point.” Ro tried not to sound ungrateful. Because she was grateful for the shower, really. But putting on dirty clothes after said shower kind of sucked.