Shaking with the need to claim her, he tugged her to her feet. She swayed and tightened her grip on him. "Where are we going?"

To Paradise, if he had his way. "Shower." He didn't wait for her response, but shepherded her toward the bathroom.

Surprisingly, she didn't protest. "I must look terrible." She smoothed a hand down her hair and grimaced. "Ugh. Bedhead."

"You could never look terrible."

Her cheeks flushed to a rosy pink. "Yes, I could. Just...I don't know. Avert your eyes until I'm clean or something."

"I've tried to keep my gaze from you. Believe me." But his eyes always sought her of their own accord, pulled by a force far greater than himself.

They reached the bathroom and he released her. An acute sense of loss filled him. Almost time. Just a little longer.

His back to her, he twisted the k.n.o.bs in the tub. Water burst from the nozzle, cold at first, but gradually heating. Soon steam drifted through the bathroom, curling toward the ceiling, condensing, then falling like tiny drops of rain.

Steeling himself, he faced Ashlyn.

"I'm sorry about your room. I'll, uh, clean it later," she said, gazing down at her bare feet. The nails weren't polished, but the toes were charming, square-tipped.

"I'll clean it," he told her gruffly.

Her gaze snapped to his. "No. I'd rather you didn't. I'm embarra.s.sed enough. I mean, I threw up in front of you. Several times.

Maybe even on you. Anything that-oh G.o.d, this is mortifying. Anything that landed on the floor is my responsibility." "My fault. My room. I will clean." He didn't like the image of her doing manual labor. He wanted her in bed, resting. And naked.

Yes, naked. Perhaps not resting, then, but licking and biting him.

His c.o.c.k jumped in response.

"Take off your clothes." His voice was huskier than he'd intended.

She blinked up at him, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. "Wh-what?"

"Take off your clothes."

"Right now?" she squeaked.

His brow furrowed. "Do you normally shower with them on?"

"No, but I normally shower alone."

"Not today." He felt as if he'd waited forever for this moment. Ashlyn. Naked. His to do with as he pleased, her curves begging to be explored.

"Why not today?" she asked, the words cracked and pleading.

"Because." Stubborn, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Maddox-"

"Ashlyn. Take off your clothes. They are dirty."

Behind him, the water continued to beat against the white tile. In front of him, Ashlyn continued to stare, as though flummoxed.

"No," she said. She backed away toward the exit. One step, two.

He leaned forward, his nose inching toward hers. He didn't kiss her, though. Didn't touch her. He simply reached behind her and flicked the door shut, blocking her escape.

The soft clink echoed off the walls, and she gulped. Paled.

He sighed. He didn't want her scared, he wanted her aroused. "Do not be frightened."

"I-I'm not."

He didn't believe her, didn't know what thoughts spun inside her mind. Didn't know why she resisted something she'd seemed to want only minutes ago. So he said, "How do you feel? Were you lying when you told me you were better?"

To lie or not to lie, Ashlyn thought. If she told him she was still sick, she knew he'd leave and allow her to shower alone. If she told him she really was healed, he'd insist on watching her strip. Something she'd never done for any man, much less a stranger.

An immortal one, at that.

He's not really a stranger anymore. He's held you and slept beside you, cared for you and cleaned you. All of that was true, but she didn't know the little things about him. His likes and dislikes or his relationship history, which must be pretty extensive, old as he was. She didn't know if he simply wanted today with her, or something more.

So many times, in dozens of languages, she'd heard men tell a woman what she wanted to hear, then abandon her later. She'd heard them cheat, unconcerned about the partner waiting for them at home. She'd heard pretty lies and even blatant force. How would Maddox, a self-professed demon, treat her body? How would he treat her once the loving was done?

As scary as the prospect of being with him was, however, she had to admit it was also exciting. Thrilling. There was intent desire in Maddox's eyes, a violet fire as fierce as it was hot.

No one had ever looked at her like that.

She was the weird girl, the freak. The crazy girl who couldn't have a normal conversation because she was too busy listening to other people talk. Take a chance, Darrow. Dare to live for once. You know you want to.

She gazed up at Maddox. Steam swirled around him, giving him a dreamlike, ghostly aura. His face was ruthless but s.e.xy, his hair cut in choppy black ribbons that fell to his chin. She'd always wanted to have a man, a relationship. She'd always been curious about the pa.s.sion she'd heard so much about. But she'd also always wanted a man who would love her, who wouldn't leave her when the pa.s.sion-fire burned out.

"How do you feel, Ashlyn?" he repeated.

Every nerve ending in her body reached for him, pleading for attention. "Fine," she finally admitted. "I feel fine. I didn't lie."

"Then why are you standing there? Strip."

"Do not order me." If she allowed him to walk on her now, he would always walk on her. Always? How long are you staying?

He was silent for a moment. "Please."

Are you really going to do this?

Yes. She was. He didn't love her, and she wasn't sure how he'd treat her afterward, but she was going to do it. She wanted him and had from the first.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the zipper of her pink jacket. But she found that she wasn't wearing the jacket anymore.

Or her sweater. He must have removed them while she slept. Cheeks heating, she curled her fingers around the hem of her plain T-shirt. She lifted the material over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her in a white tank, bra and jeans.

Maddox nodded his approval. "So many layers. Remove more. Please."

She rested her hands on the bottom of the tank. Paused. "I'm nervous," she confessed.

One of his black eyebrows arched as his head tilted to the side. "Why?"

"What if-what if you don't like what you see?"

"I'll like," he said huskily.

That primitive tone... She shivered. It had scared her in the forest. Now it fanned the flames of her desire. "How can you be sure?"

His gaze raked over her in a heated perusal. "I like what I see right now. What's underneath will be even better."

Ashlyn wasn't so sure about that. She didn't work out; she didn't diet. There had never really been a need. When she wasn't traveling with the Inst.i.tute, she was content to stay home, watching TV, reading magazines and playing on the Internet. Not the things that gave a woman the type of body men talked about wanting.

Her thighs were a little wider than most said they liked, her stomach a little rounder. What kind of woman was Maddox used to? He was immortal, after all, and had probably been with thousands of beautiful females.

Her hands fisted. Irrational though it was, the thought of him with someone else really p.i.s.sed her off.

"Ashlyn," Maddox said, snapping her from her musings.

"What?"

"Mind on the task at hand," he said dryly.

Her lips inched into a smile. "Sorry. I got distracted." She'd have to learn to control her own thoughts, now that silence was a part of her life.

"Let me help you. Please."

Every time he uttered the word please she melted, wanting to give him all that he desired and more. She nodded.

His hands closed over hers, and there was that thrilling shock that always followed his touch. She'd expected it this time, but was still unprepared for its ripple effect. Pearled nipples, a warm rush between her legs.

He didn't wait for permission but gripped the tank and lifted.

"Wait," she said.

Instantly, he ceased moving.

"I need to prepare you." He was about to see her underwear-another embarra.s.sing topic. They were plain white cotton.

Granny gear, she'd once heard a man say. She never wore s.e.xy clothing, even underclothing, while on the job. It just wasn't practical. "I do own s.e.xy underwear, I promise, but I'm not wearing it right now."

"That is supposed to disgust me?" Maddox asked, sounding genuinely confused. "That you aren't wearing s.e.xy underwear?"

"I don't know." She chewed on her lower lip. "Maybe. Does it?"

"Ashlyn, whatever you're wearing will not matter to me. You will not be wearing it for long. Ready now?" he asked.

Swallowing, she nodded.

He tugged the tank over her head and tossed it on the floor beside her T-shirt. She shivered. "W-well?"

"Well?"

"Ugly?" she asked.

"Lovely," Maddox replied. He sucked in a-reverent?-breath and her blood caught fire. He reached out with a shaky hand and traced the plain cotton that shielded her nipples. Though already hard, they strained toward him.

Ashlyn moaned at the decadence.

He trailed his fingers down her stomach and gripped the waist of her jeans. A twist of his wrist, and they were unsnapped. She could feel the heat of his skin all the way to her bones.

He slid the jeans over her hips, past her knees and to the floor. "Step out of them."Legs shaky, she did as commanded. His gaze locked on her white cotton panties. She fought the urge to cover them, wishing again that he could see her in something s.e.xy. "I know men like to role-play," she told him, nervously trying to fill the silence.

How many times had she heard them brag about it to their friends? "At home I have a cop outfit, a harem girl costume and a Playboy Bunny teddy." Not that she'd ever gotten to use them. But she loved owning them, just in case.

"That's nice." Maddox sounded unimpressed.

"Maybe I can, I don't know, show you sometime."

"Take the bra and panties off." His expression was disappointingly blank as he straightened.

Maybe he didn't care what she wore.

As he waited for her to obey, he reached behind him and jerked his T-shirt over his head. She gasped in surprise, in delight, and forgot about how ugly her panties were-but she still didn't remove them. Or the bra. She was too busy staring.

Maddox was absolutely magnificent. The scabs had already disappeared, leaving only faint red lines. Rope after rope of bronzed muscle offered a feast for her eyes. He had an innie bellyb.u.t.ton and a faint dusting of black hair that led straight into the waist of his pants.

Never taking his eyes from her face, he unfastened his pants and shoved them down the long, solid length of his legs until they, too, pooled on the floor.

He wasn't wearing any underwear.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dried. He was huge. Long and thick and sublimely aroused. She'd seen the male p.e.n.i.s in books, on Web sites she shouldn't have visited and movies she shouldn't have watched, but never in person. Never like this. His t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es were drawn up tight and surrounded by coa.r.s.e dark hair.

"I believe I gave you a specific task," he said, his pointed gaze between her legs making her quake deliciously.

Need flooded her, more intense than ever before. The need to touch and be touched, to taste and be tasted, consumed her. A sharp ache pounded through her. "Are we really going to have s.e.x?" she asked breathlessly, hopefully.

"Oh, yes," he replied, stalking toward her. "Oh, yes, beauty, we really are."

CHAPTER TWELVE.