Wicked Games
Page 20

I went to check out the rest of the bungalow. One small room was a bedroom with two tiny twin beds separated by a wicker nightstand. Two fluffy bathrobes lay nearby, along with two colorful wraps for us to wear when we were done showering. The other room was an immense, almost palatial bathroom that I could have sworn was bigger than the bedroom. Decorated in tropical style, it consisted of a stone floor and massive dual showerheads, separated by a saloon door partition. His and hers showers. Cute.
Dean drifted in behind me and was staring at the bathroom with an impressed look on his face. “Pretty nice digs.”
“Yep,” I said, still feeling awkward, and brushed past him, out of the bathroom and into the living room, making a direct line toward the food. A pizza dripping with cheese and pepperoni still had steam rising from it, and with my mouth watering I reached out to grab a slice… and stopped, appalled at the filth on my hand. Rings of dirt scored under my fingernails, and my tan was ringed with grime from living on the beach. Suddenly, I felt filthy as hell and wiped my hand on my equally gritty shirt. Ugh.
Dean moved behind me and his hand touched my shoulder. “Abby, I think we need to talk.” His voice was serious and low and distinctly not what I wanted to hear at the moment.
No, no. “I don’t want to talk right now,” I said, trying to brush past him. I didn’t want to ruin the lovely mountain of food or the showers or anything with an argument or complaining about my lack of strategy. I just wanted to enjoy an evening of luxury.
“We need to talk,” Dean insisted, following me as I pushed past him.
“I’m going to shower first,” I said, not looking at him as I moved into the bedroom, scooped up the robe, and then crossed to the bathroom. “You’re welcome to talk to me in there, but I’m filthy and I’m going to clean up before I touch any of that lovely food.”
To my relief, he didn’t follow me into the bathroom. I stepped into one of the stalls, the door swinging shut behind me, and began to strip out of my clothing. I didn’t care if it got wet—hell, it needed to be cleaned worse than I did. I stepped out of the last of my bikini and tossed it in the corner of the shower, then turned the water on.
It blasted my skin, hot and wet and just about the best thing ever. I gave a shuddery moan of delight and wet down my hair, leaning into the spray. God, it felt so amazing. Who would have thought a warm shower could feel so blissful after two weeks of no showers? I grabbed one of the small bottles of shampoo lining the wall and shampooed my thick, curly hair. Twice. The scent was coconut—something I was a little tired of—but I didn’t care. It felt heavenly to get clean.
A round, lumpy sponge had been left for me, and I squirted it with body wash, frantically rubbing down my body. As I did, I heard the shower next to me turn on and glanced over the swinging doors. Dean was in the other shower, and I could just make out his shoulders and head as he soaped up. “Decided to shower?” I called out.
He slicked the water away from his face and glanced at me over the flimsy shower door. “Thought I’d wait for you.”
I nodded and turned back to my frantic scrubbing. Part of me supposed that I should have been weirded out by sharing a shower with a stranger, but Dean felt like anything but. Living together on a beach for two weeks had certainly stripped that aspect out of our relationship, and I figured he could see flashes of my naked body in the shower, and I pretty much didn’t care. Though, if I had to admit it, I was curious to see him without his trunks.
I blushed at the thought and chided myself for it. We had to work together—professionally—at least until the tribes merged. I couldn’t be sitting here, wondering how big his equipment was. We were friends. Theoretically. He might be mad at me for screwing his chances, and I might have been thinking about his package, but we were friends before today, and hopefully we would be again after the initial shockwaves settled down.
“So why did you pick me?” Dean said loudly, speaking over the water.
What was the best answer here? “Because they expected me not to,” I called back.
“Trying to prove everyone wrong again, eh?”
I couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice if he thought I was being funny or what, so I said nothing, swiping the sponge over my neck and the tops of my shoulders. I couldn’t quite reach my back, and it was bothering me.
“Abby?” Dean stepped forward, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. He was standing near the swinging doors, but his eyes were averted, not looking at my naked (and very vulnerable) body. For some reason, I found that… sweet. My heart melted. Even though he was irritated at me and I was standing here naked, he was averting his eyes like a gentleman.
“Something like that,” I said slowly. My back still felt oily and gross, and I took a step backward, keeping my back presented to him. “Can you wash my back while we talk?” I kept my eyes trained forward, stating without speaking that I wouldn’t look at his naked body if he did. To keep my promise, I closed my eyes and bent my head, crossing my arms over my breasts and exposing my back.
After a moment’s pause—and I had a horrible fear that he wouldn’t do me the favor—I heard him step forward, and then a soapy sponge—his—brushed across my shoulders. He swiped in quick, functional, almost rough motions. Impersonal. “So that’s why you picked me?” His voice was as neutral as his touch. “Just to fuck with the others?”
Food and showers help, I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue, remaining silent. Anything I said right now would come across as flippant, and I just wanted to concentrate on him touching me.
The sponge finished scrubbing my back, and it lifted and started over at my shoulders, moving in small, almost ticklish circles. Still washing me with soft, easy strokes.
“Abby?”
“What?” My voice grew shy, my skin prickling as my mind went wild with the thought of him standing naked behind me. This wasn’t going to work. I should have sent him off with another team. I should have picked someone safe like Will. I should have—
“Are you going to stand there and tell me that’s the only reason you picked me?” Dean said in a low, hoarse voice. The sponge lifted from my shoulders, and I felt nothing but the hot spray of water on my body and Dean’s intense presence behind me.
I dared to risk a glance over my shoulder, and found him standing close to me, very close. My entire body prickled with awareness, and my heart pounded. Don’t say anything, I warned myself. Don’t say anything. He can’t possibly be interested in you as a person. This is a game and he’s just going to use you to win the money.
But his fingers—not the sponge—rested along the dip of my spine, and I sucked in a breath, steeling myself. “Not the reason,” I whispered. The air seemed charged with electricity and hope, and I froze, waiting for him to tell me if I was nuts. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting.
Rough hands grabbed my shoulders and my eyes flew open as Dean whirled me around and grabbed me in his arms, and then his mouth was hot on mine, kissing me frantically. Devouring me. His lean, hard body pressed against mine, and I felt the thick erection against my stomach, even as he pressed our bodies closer together. My hands lifted, winding to his neck as my mouth pressed against his with equal fervor. His mouth nipped at mine and he sucked on my lower lip, making my breath gasp into my throat. Dean’s hands pushed me against the slick tile wall, pressing me between him and the wall itself, a cage of flesh as his arms surrounded me. I whimpered a little at the sensation, swiping at his tongue with mine and digging my fingers into his hair. It was madness, this intensity between us, nothing but water and steam and frantically kissing mouths, as if a dam had burst and the water had washed away all inhibition and doubt.