The Bet by Lucinda Betts Page B

the mirror. She looked different. She looked again. What was it?
    Then she realized . . . it’d been a long time since she’d seen her own smile in the mirror.
    She stepped into the steaming water and let it sluice over her back. God, it felt good. She rolled her head one way and then the other. Just as she reached for the soap, she heard the door open.
    â€œYou a breakfast person, Zoe?”
    â€œDepends what’s on the menu.”
    â€œGreat,” he said, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind him. “I am.” Seconds later he was in the shower with her. He took the soap from her and began to wash her back.
    â€œYou got pretty dirty last night.” Erotic tension laced his voice. He slid his sudsy hands over her ass and down her thighs.
    â€œI only followed your lead.” No trace of guilt in her tone.
    He slid over her calves and over that soft spot behind her knees. Had anyone ever touched her there before? “Mmm. That feels great.”
    He took the shampoo from the shelf, poured some in his hand, and lathered her hair. Gently, competently, like she was a child. He positioned her under the nozzle and carefully rinsed her hair, taking care to keep the soap from her eyes. It made Zoe feel . . . what? Cherished. She’d never had anyone wash her hair before, outside of the salon.
    â€œTurn around.” Husky. Thick.
    Glycerin masked the roughness of his palms as he glided around her neck, over her stomach, over her breasts. He spent long moments on them, slithering over one nipple and then the other. Within seconds, she was ready for him. “Oh, Phillip. You feel so good.”
    She couldn’t take her eyes off his huge erection, imagining the heat of it under her lathered hand. He pressed a nipple and it sprang to attention. She let out another moan of desire.
    â€œIsn’t my time with you up yet?”
    â€œYou don’t feel like you’re in a hurry to leave.” He slithered a hand between her thighs and grinned as she gasped. “You’re still mine for a while.”
    He kissed her then, a hot and wicked kiss. Which she returned with a wickedness of her own. Breathless, she took the soap from him. “Can I wash you?”
    â€œNot until the third date,” he answered with husky humor. “Until noon you have to obey me. Now hold still.”
    He grabbed shaving cream from the shelf.
    She thought of his face between her thighs. “How courteous of you.”
    â€œThis isn’t for me—it’s for you. I already shaved.”
    Her? She didn’t need a shave. “I don’t un—”
    He lathered the nest between her legs, and suddenly she understood. She’d thought he was through with the orders and commands. “Do you really need to do this?”
    â€œHold still,” he said, positioning the razor as he kneeled before her. “I need a steady hand, and you have a way of making me shake.”
    He made her tremble, too.
    The first slide of the razor felt cold, and on the second slide, he let his pinky glide over her clit. “Wait,” she said. “I don’t want to fall.” She carefully shifted her legs farther apart.
    He groaned appreciatively and said, “You like this.”
    â€œConceited thing. The floor is slippery.”
    He flicked his tongue quickly over her clit, and said, “You’re slippery.” He shaved another swath and said, “Tell the truth. Did you move your legs apart because you want me?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œGod, I hope so,” he said, burying his face.

8
    O ut of the shower, he toweled her dry, patting her carefully from ankles to ears. “Put your hair up, please.”
    She twisted it back into a damp bun. Raising her arms, she saw his gaze grow hot as he watched her breasts. A pleasurable feeling of power coursed through her—he wanted her, she wanted him. She couldn’t wait to discover what erotic adventure he