Stranded (8 page)

Not that I didn’t feel lust as much as the next girl, but long before I decided that I would be more discerning with whom I chose as my lovers, and I’ve always been able to keep that lust in check. 

Just because you climb into a jacuzzi with him doesn’t mean you have to have sex with him
.

I nod, my decision made. I’ll enjoy the hot tub, but not the hot guy. Holding back a smile at my little joke, I think about what I can wear—skinny dipping is not an option. My gaze sweeps the room, and stops on the t-shirt I left on the dryer that morning. Remembering how Drake caught me with my pants down makes my face flood with heat, but then I decide I can wear the t-shirt over my bra and panties in the jacuzzi.

Feeling good about my decision, I take off my jeans and blouse, and pull the t-shirt over my head, and pretend I'm just wearing a bikini. 

Some bikinis show a lot more skin than my bra and panties
.

Feeling confident, I make my way into the kitchen. Drake is nowhere to be seen, so I assume he’s already in the jacuzzi. He said he’d meet me there, and I'm certain I’ve taken a lot longer to get ready than he did. Especially with all my internal arguments.

I look out the kitchen window, but don’t see a jacuzzi out there. 

Well, dummy, he said you couldn’t see it from the kitchen window.

Frowning, I reach for the back door, but hesitate.

“This is your last chance to change your mind,” I mutter. Wiping my suddenly sweaty hands on the t-shirt, I take a quick breath, then twist the doorknob and open the door. A blast of cold air hits my bare legs and arms, and I shiver.

“Over here, Ashley,” Drake calls from somewhere to the right.

He knows you’re there. No backing out now.

I step onto the covered patio and close the door, my gaze darting to the large jacuzzi nestled under a glass roof. 

“Get in before you freeze,” he says.

I realize I'm shivering in the t-shirt/mini-dress, so I walk to the jacuzzi and climb in on the opposite side from Drake. The hot water envelopes me as I sink onto a bench seat. Closing my eyes, I moan with pleasure. “This feels so good.”

“I know.”

I open my eyes to see Drake watching me. Bubbles rise to the surface all around me, and a hot jet sprays against my back.

“I’m glad you suggested playing in the snow,” he says. “I haven’t done that in a long time, but it was really fun.” He smiles. “Especially the snowball fight.”

I smile in return. “You’re just saying that because you won.”

He laughs. “Maybe you’ll win next time.”

Next time? Would there be a next time?
I could only hope.

Drake looks up at the snow that falls gently on the glass roof. “I think the storm is almost done.”

I look up as well, and feel a stab of disappointment. “Yeah.”

“Once the storm stops, my Internet will be back up, and then we can call a tow truck to pull your car out of the snowbank.”

My gaze shoots to him. “You have Internet?”

He laughs. “Yeah. Through a satellite dish. But when the snow piles up on the dish, it blocks the signal.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. Tomorrow we should be able to use my wi-fi to make a phone call.” His smile fades a bit. “To call your boyfriend.”

I kind of regret that I’ve told him I have a boyfriend, but I'm not about to tell him the truth now. That would just make me look like an idiot. Plus, it’s kind of like an invisible layer of protection, giving me an excuse to rebuff his obvious interest in me. “Okay. Good.” Hmm. I hope that didn’t sound as lackluster to him as it did to me.

Chapter Seventeen

I slide down so that the water comes to my chin, then close my eyes to try to forget that Drake’s naked chest and amazing biceps are within easy reach. Somehow closing my eyes makes it worse as images of his body blaze into my mind. Then the t-shirt I’m wearing floats upward and I have to keep pushing it down, which is really annoying.

Evidently Drake notices what’s happening. Who am I kidding? He notices everything. “You could just take the t-shirt off, you know.”

My eyes fly open, and I notice the deep dimple on his cheek as he smiles.

“I promise to keep my hands to myself,” he adds.

It
would
feel nice to not have the dumb t-shirt on in the hot water, I decide. Crossing my arms at my waist, I grab the bottom of the t-shirt and begin pulling it over my head. It’s heavy with water and difficult to drag off, but eventually I'm able to remove it.

“Toss it here,” Drake says.

I do as instructed and watch as he wrings it out, then tosses it neatly onto the back of a chair.

“Impressive throw,” I say, then smile. “I guess that’s why you’re so good at snowball fights.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “I’m good at lots of things.”

A pulse of heat rips through me as I imagine what else he’s good at.
Damn, how does he do that?
Desperate to think of something else, I say, “What are we having for dinner?”

He grins, clearly aware of what I'm doing. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“So . . . you’re making dinner, right?”

“If you make breakfast tomorrow.” He shoots back.

“Okay. I can do that.”

“That was easy.”

My eyebrows crease. “What was easy?”

“Getting you to agree.”

The look on his face makes me think he’s implying some sort of double meaning, but it could be my imagination. “I don’t mind,” I finally say.

We soak in silence for a while, but then I start feeling a little too warm. Normally in that situation I would simply sit on the edge of the jacuzzi until I felt cooler, but in this case I'm wearing my bra and panties. Yes, it’s like I'm wearing a bikini. But still, I'm not. I lift my arms out of the water and hold them above it, which helps, but it doesn’t take long for my arms to tire.

“Are you hot?” Drake asks, evidently noticing my odd positioning.

“Kind of.”

“Just get out for a bit. You’ll be ready to get back in in no time.”

I stare at him a moment, knowing he must know my predicament, but obviously not caring. Or more likely,
hoping
I’ll get out and expose my underthings. Finally, after my arms are too heavy to hold up any longer, I decide I’ll show him that I'm perfectly comfortable sitting in the open air in front of a virtual stranger in just my bra and panties.

Reaching behind me, I place my hands on the edge of the jacuzzi, then I tuck my feet under me on the bench and push myself up and out of the water. Focused on what I'm doing, it isn’t until I'm sitting on the edge with my feet dangling into the water that I look at Drake.

His eyes are completely focused on my body, and it’s clear by his face that he likes what he sees. A powerful thrumming starts between my legs as I stare at him. After another moment, his heavy-lidded eyes meet mine.

“That feels better now, doesn’t it?” he asks, his voice husky.

I nod, unable to speak over the moan that is trying to escape my throat.

“Good. I like my guests to be comfortable.”

Wanting to drag my mind away from the waves of desire rolling through me, I grasp onto his comment like it’s a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. “So I’m your guest now?”

He smiles. “Sure. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, I’d invite you to come for a stay.”

Holy crap. Why does everything he says seem to have a double meaning?
Unless I'm misinterpreting what he meant. Maybe he’s just being a good host. “Good. So then you can make dinner tonight
and
breakfast tomorrow.”

“If you prefer, yeah, I can do that.”

“Now look who’s easy.”
Whoops! Did I just say that? Now looks who’s throwing out double entendres.

“I’m not as easy as you might think,” he says with a lazy smile.

I slide back into the water. “Neither am I.” I feel a need to make that clear at this point in our flirtation. Set the boundaries and all that.

His smile grows. “No, I didn’t think so.”

Well, that’s a relief. Maybe he’ll back off a little. Then, without warning, he climbs out of the jacuzzi and sits on the edge. Now it’s my turn to ogle. Water drips off of his chiseled chest, and his abs are as flat as I imagined. And those biceps. Woo! I want to feel those rock hard muscles for myself.

All of a sudden I realize I'm staring, but as I lift my eyes to meet his, I know that he knows that I like what I see. To show him that he’s wrong, I turn my head and look off into the distance. “I’m getting kind of hungry,” I say.

“I’ve been hungry all day,” he replies, and I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

Facing him, I concentrate on keeping my eyes above his neck, and pretend he is talking about food. “Maybe you should start dinner then?”

“Are you hungry, Ashley?”

“Um, kind of.”

He swings his legs over the side of the jacuzzi, then wraps a towel around his waist. “Why don’t you come help me then?”

Holy hell. Would you just stop?
I want to scream, but at the same time I'm really enjoying our banter. “Do you have a towel I can use?”

“Sure.” He picks up a large towel, then walks around to my side and holds it open for me.

I climb out of the jacuzzi, acutely aware that not much fabric separates the two of us, and allow him to wrap the towel around my shoulders. “Thanks,” I murmur.

“Uh huh.” 

Then he surprises me by taking my hand as he leads me inside. The warmth of the kitchen washes over me, and it almost feels too hot after being in the jacuzzi. Gently pulling my hand from his, I say, “I need to get dressed.”

He smiles. “Okay. I’ll see what I can find for dinner.”

Grateful that he’s finally saying something that has no sexual innuendo behind it, and trying to avert my gaze from his adonis-like body, I hold my towel tightly around me as I hurry out of the kitchen and walk toward the laundry room.

Chapter Eighteen

After grabbing my jeans and blouse from the laundry room, I head upstairs to my room and close the door behind me. Like the last time I got naked, I push the chair in front of the door, just in case. After stripping off my wet underthings, I roll them in the towel, then hang them over the side of the chair.

I thoroughly dry myself, then pull on my jeans—commando style again.
Dang, I’ll be glad to get my luggage
. I pull my blouse over my head, then look down at my chest, not thrilled to see that my nipples are clearly evident through the fabric. I momentarily wonder if I should put my wet bra on. Then I come up with a better idea. 

Pushing the chair out of the way, I carry the bra and panties into the bathroom and dig around to see if I can find a hair dryer to dry my things, but come up empty. I look out into the hallway and see two closed doors. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I open the first door. It’s another guest room. I close the door and move to the final door, which has to be Drake’s room.

Silently, I turn the knob, then slowly push the door open. Poking my head in, I make sure the coast is clear, then I walk in like I belong there. A king-size bed takes up the middle section of the wall, and a matching dresser sits on the wall directly opposite the bed. Above the dresser hangs a large flat-screen TV, and I wonder if he has a satellite for television as well as Internet.

A pair of large windows meet at the corner of the room, creating a spectacular view. A door that leads to a bathroom catches my eye and I head that way. “Nice,” I whisper as I take in the large jetted tub, the oversize shower with glass doors, the double sinks with granite countertops, and the large walk-in closet.

I pull open drawers, then look under the cabinet, but there is no hair dryer in sight. I hear the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps ascending the staircase, then walking down the hall toward the master bedroom.

Crap, crap, crap.
My gaze darts around the space I occupy, trying to figure out what to do.
Hide,
my mind commands. Without another thought, I dash into the closet, then frantically look for a place to conceal myself. One side has two rows of hangers—shirts on top, pants on the bottom. Across from that is a wall with shelves that hold shoes, along with a tall dresser, and at the end of the closet directly opposite the door is a short row of hangers with slacks, suit coats, and a couple of robes.

My gaze absorbs all that information in mere seconds, and when I hear Drake’s footsteps reaching the entrance to the bathroom, I dash into the corner that is hidden behind the door, then press myself against the wall, praying he won’t touch the door.

I hear him moving around in the bathroom, and I wonder what he’s doing. When I left him in the kitchen, he was still wearing his swimsuit with the towel wrapped around his waist. The memory of his wide shoulders and perfect chest distracts me for a moment, so I'm a bit startled when I hear him enter the closet.

I hear the sound of hangers sliding as he evidently searches for something to wear. Holding perfectly still, I try to not even breathe, but I’ve never been very good at holding my breath, and after a moment I exhale. The sound is much louder than I thought it would be, and I slap my hand over my mouth.

“What in the hell?” Drake mutters.

The door, which has been my invisibility cloak, swings outward, and my eyes meet those of Colton Drake. Without meaning to, my gaze slips downward, and when I see him in all his naked gory, I involuntarily gasp. My gaze shoots back to his face.

Rather than embarrassment, his face shows amusement. “Why are you hiding in my closet, Ashley? Were you trying to get a glimpse?”

My eyes are wide as my face turns five shades of red. “No.”

He chuckles. “Looks like you got the show anyway.” He doesn’t attempt to cover himself as he speaks. “So, why are you in here?”

My eyes are locked on his in a desperate attempt to not look at what he has to offer, but in the brief glimpse I had, I noted that he is well-endowed, and as I visualize what I’ve seen, my eyes drift downward of their own accord.

“Ashley?” he nearly purrs, snapping my eyes back to his.