Chapter 22
After three days, Naomi either needed to give in and jump him or buy bigger pants.
There had been no more angry outbursts. No flying cat food or broken bottles. Chance had been frustrated more than once, either from bumping his hand or finding yet another inane task he couldn’t do for himself. But he’d handled the obstacles with a modicum of profanity and allowed Naomi to be his extra set of hands.
Personal hygiene had proved the most difficult. The first day, he’d worn jeans, which she’d buttoned for him. By the time he’d been fully dressed, Naomi had been fully aroused. By that afternoon, after assisting him several times with the button, she’d rummaged in his dresser for any elastic-waist options. The man owned three pairs of jogging pants, and if keeping her sanity meant washing every third day, so be it.
To deal with her raging hormones, Naomi had done what any woman would do—she ate. Constantly. The sweeter the better. She made cookies. Baked a pie. They’d even had waffles for dinner one night. Thanks to modern technology, she was able to work during the day via her laptop and phone, but with Dylan still on daddy duty and Chance’s PR schedule on hold, there wasn’t much for her to do.
“Hey there,” Chance said, catching her on her bed with a box of mini chocolate muffins. “You busy?”
“No,” she mumbled before finishing her last bite. Scooting off the bed—because being on a bed while Chance was five feet away made her want to eat the muffins off him—Naomi wiped her hands on her pants. “What do you need?”
“It’s time to feed Willie.”
The spoiled puffball, as Naomi had come to think of him, ate each night promptly at eight thirty. Why that time she didn’t know, but that was the rule established long before she’d become keeper to man and beast.
“Sure. I can do that.”
Naomi followed Chance to the kitchen, struggling to keep her eyes above his bottom. Turned out, a butt that looked awesome in Wranglers looked even better in low-riding fleece. At their destination, she went through the motions while Willie purred around the empty spot on the floor where his bowl would go. Chance watched her work, elbows on the counter and dark hair framing his face.
“You need a haircut,” she said. “I could have April come out and do it this weekend.”
Chance messed it up with his good hand, giving himself a fresh-out-of-bed look. Naomi considered dunking her own head under the faucet.
“Right now, I’d give anything just to wash it.”
Thanks to some ingenious thinking on her part, Naomi had avoided having to assist Chance in that area as well. Each morning, they’d cut up a garbage bag and taped it over the ridiculously huge bandage. Once clean, he’d return downstairs and she’d remove the covering. The first day he’d shown up in the kitchen in nothing but the sweatpants with his hair still wet.
Naomi had nearly swallowed her tongue. After that, she’d gathered every stretched-out T-shirt he owned and made sure he had one ready and waiting upon emerging from the bathroom. The wet hair she hadn’t found a remedy for yet.
“Aren’t you washing it in the shower?”
“Trying to, but one hand isn’t cutting it.”
This is what she was here for. To do the things he couldn’t do for himself. Heaven help her.
“I guess I could wash it for you.”
Brown eyes caught hers. “You’d do that?”
“Um, sure.” Naomi scooped the cat food into the porcelain dish. “That’s what I’m here for. To help you out with whatever you need.”
To his credit, Chance had not crossed the line since the night she’d asked him to wait. There were times he passed her in the kitchen and a hand would caress her hip. Or when she’d call it a night, and he’d drop a kiss on her cheek. But he hadn’t pressed his case or tried to rush her. It was as if the total lack of pressure made her want him more.
Seduction via restraint.
“How do you want to do it?” he asked.
Every way possible, her brain screamed. “Well . . .” Naomi considered her options. “Do you have a bathtub?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we can do it in there.” Realizing what she’d said, Naomi stuttered, “I . . . I mean . . . wash your hair. We can wash your hair in the tub.”
As if he’d missed the double entendre, Chance rose up and patted the counter. “Great. Come up when you’re ready.”
Chance strolled away and disappeared up the stairs. A bit panicked, Naomi tossed the spoon into the sink and stared out the window. Washing a man’s hair couldn’t be that big a deal, right? April did it all the time, and she didn’t come home strung out on unfulfilled lust. He’d bend over the tub, she’d lather him up, rinse him off, and they’d be done.
So why were her hands shaking at the thought?
Naomi closed her eyes and breathed deep. This had become her go-to solution when her brain started firing in too many directions. Hands braced on the countertop, she dissected the current situation. She wanted to have sex with Chance. That was a given. But she’d asked him to wait, because Naomi knew that once she gave in, there would be no easy way out of this.
After what had happened the last time, she needed to be sure. To trust that history wouldn’t repeat itself. Not the sleeping-with-her-boss part, which obviously was not going to happen this time, but Chance could still hurt her. How was the man upstairs different from the one who’d betrayed her?
Seven years ago, he had been a young, brash up-and-comer with the world laid out before him. He’d also been secretive and guarded. Today, he was a damaged man battling a disease that had nearly taken his world. In the last week, he’d been honest and forthcoming, and already had shared more of himself than he had in their entire six-month relationship. The difference could not be more pronounced.
Willie wrapped himself around her ankle, meowing loudly in demand of his meal. Shaken from her thoughts, Naomi put the dish on the floor and watched him dig in.
“You’ve lived with him for a while, Willie. Am I being too cautious?”
The full tale swished and Naomi thought about the night of the accident. Despite rapidly losing blood, Chance had insisted on protecting this little creature. A wholly selfless act, and one the Chance of seven years ago wouldn’t even have considered.
“I’m being an idiot,” she muttered, and dashed off to her room.
Chance wasn’t used to second-guessing himself. He also wasn’t used to delayed gratification. The last three days had been excruciating, and not because of his hand. The only good to come out of all this sexual frustration was a new set of songs. Every night, while Naomi slept, he’d sat at the table and wrote another song. Whoever created that guitar app was going to get a mention in the acknowledgments once the album was done.
But he’d done something else while she’d slept. Chance had paid her a visit, each night getting closer to climbing into bed with her. Last night, he’d gotten as far as pulling the covers back, but her voice filled his mind.
Wait for me.
If this was going to work, she had to come to him. Naomi had to make the decision. However, when a man was on the brink of losing his ever-loving mind, a little nudge in the right direction couldn’t hurt.
He’d been serious about the hair thing. Washing it with one hand was like trying to scratch his ass with his elbow. Not until she offered to wash it for him did a better idea form in his mind. Chance wasn’t blind. He’d picked up on the cues. How she reacted to his touch. How she eyed him over her computer screen while he read a magazine. Not that he’d gotten much reading done. One day, he’d realized the damn thing was upside down. Thankfully, he’d caught the mistake before she did.
This move could backfire on him. Naomi might walk in, find him in the tub, and walk back out. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. It was a gamble he had to take, because spending another night under this roof without touching her was going to drive him to the brink of madness.
Once the claw-foot tub was two-thirds full, Chance struggled out of his clothes and climbed in, remembering to grab the shampoo from the shower at the last minute. Body strung tight, he leaned back and waited. And waited.
When he was certain she wasn’t coming, the door cracked open.
“Chance?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Over here.”
Naomi had avoided entering his bathroom. She’d been in his room to get his clothes, but never stepped foot in the room where he showered. At first, he’d assumed she wanted to give him privacy. But then considered that maybe his penchant for being naked in this space was what kept her out.
Until tonight.
To his surprise, she’d changed. The blue sweater had been replaced by a thin gray tank, and even from where he was sitting, Chance could see there wasn’t anything underneath it. Lace-trimmed shorts peeked out from beneath the top, revealing legs that went on forever.
Chest unbearably tight, he fought the urge to drag her in with him. To suck the water off her nipples until she was screaming for more. Sitting up in the water, he did his best to act casual.
“I brought the shampoo over,” he told her, voice an octave lower than usual.
Naomi hovered inside the door. “I didn’t know you were going to get in.”
“Seemed like the only way this would work with this kind of tub.” A truth he had no problem using in his favor. “I can get out if you want.”
“No.” She held up a hand. “You can stay in there. This is fine.”
Chance sure as hell hoped so, because standing up now would reveal in no uncertain terms just how much he wanted her.
Grabbing a towel off the hook by the shower, she tossed it on the floor behind him and kneeled down. “Do you have a cup I can use to get your hair wet?”
“No, but I can do that.” Chance dunked himself under the surface and came back up. The movement sent water sloshing onto the floor.
“Oh!” Naomi cried behind him. He turned to find her top soaking wet, revealing two tiny buds beneath the thin material. Their eyes met, and she made no move to cover herself. “You got me all wet.”
God, he hoped so.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered, not meaning it at all.
“That’s okay. I can take it off when we’re done.”
Or before. That worked for him, too. Doing his best to play the good patient, Chance turned back around and waited for her to apply the shampoo. When her fingers touched his scalp, he forgot for a moment why he’d really coaxed her up here. She had magic hands, kneading in the right spots, and massaging circles in others.
“You’re really good at this,” he said, eyes closed.
“My friend April is a hairdresser, remember? She once gave me tips on head massage. Is it working?”
“Mmmhmm . . .” Chance needed to send April a thank-you card.
When Naomi reached the base of his skull, she nudged him forward and massaged his neck. Another nudge and slender fingers slid down his back.
“I figure since we’re here,” she said, “I might as well get this part, too.”
Chance lifted for her, his muscles twitching beneath her touch. His dick grew harder by the second, and he nearly growled when her fingertips reached the top of his ass.
“Is that good?” she whispered in his ear, and Chance realized he was about to get what he wanted.
“Yeah,” he drawled. “Real good.”
Skilled hands slid along his rib cage before flattening against his pecs. Back once again against the porcelain, his head rested between two firm breasts.
“I think we should rinse now,” Naomi said, hands trailing over his shoulders.
Chance would have done anything she asked at that point. “Yes, ma’am.” Keeping his left hand out of the water, he dipped down and worked the lather out with the other. When he came up, Naomi stood beside the tub holding a towel.
With a wicked grin, she said, “Time to get out now.”
He waited for her to look away, or hide behind the towel, but she did neither. Power surged through his body. If she wanted a show, he’d give her one. Bracing himself with his good hand, he rose out of the water and stood tall, water slicking down his body and over his erection.
Hazel eyes, darkened by desire, took him in from head to toe. When she met his gaze again, her eyes reflected her approval. “You’re beautiful.”
Chance stepped out of the tub. “So are you.” Ripping the towel from her hands, he tossed it away. “Now let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
“Oh no,” Naomi said, stepping out of his reach to retrieve the towel. “I need to dry you off first.”
Like an ode to perfection, he stood before her, eyes the color of dark chocolate watching her every move. He’d lost weight, presumably from changing his ways for the better, which only made his shoulders seem wider. Wet hair clung to his chest while drops of water slicked down his body. Her eyes were drawn to a tiny drop lingering at the tip of his penis, and she felt a sudden urge to lick it away.
Chance held his arms out. “By all means. Dry away.”
Fighting to keep her nerve up, Naomi started with his shoulders, dabbing her way down his lean frame until his chest was mostly dry. Stepping around behind him, she pressed the towel to his damp curls. Chance leaned his head back so she could reach. Moving on to his shoulders and back, Naomi gave in to temptation and touched her lips to the spot between his shoulder blades. His skin was hot and smooth against her mouth. She repeated the action again at the small of his back, and Chance shuddered.
“You aren’t catching a chill, are you?” she asked, drying his perfectly sculpted backside.
“No.” The single word sounded as if it had come from low in his chest.
Naomi dried the backs of his legs before rising and returning to face her patient. “Almost finished.”
Chin down, his eyes were half-closed as he said, “Take your time.”
She planned to.
Rubbing the towel across his flat stomach, she let her hand slip over his hip. A finger trailed the deep ridge running at an angle, leading to her main prize. “Do these have a name?” she asked. “I’ve always wondered.”
“I have no idea.” He was shaking now. Voice tight, as he clenched his teeth for control.
Naomi knew she was driving him crazy, but she had no plans to stop. Not until she’d explored every last gorgeous inch of him.
The towel caught on his erection as she eased it down to dry his legs. With a tug, it fell away and he sprang forward, an open invitation to taste him. Tease him. Tossing the terry cloth to the tiles, she fell to her knees, taking him in hand as she did so. Chance’s hips drove forward as his knees locked.
“Good God, woman.” A callused hand clutched her hair. “You’re trying to kill me.”
Naomi blew softly on his tip. “I can stop if you’d like.”
She took the guttural moan as encouragement to continue. Running her nails down his firm thighs, she kissed the end. Then kissed a little more. Slowly, she eased him into her mouth, the taste of salt and sex and man better than any of the sweets she’d craved all week.
When she took him deep, Chance’s knees nearly buckled, but he held on, one hand in her hair as his body fought to stay upright. Gripping the base of his shaft, Naomi held him where she wanted him, sucking in and out at a steady pace. Thick and hot, he filled her mouth, and she could feel herself growing wetter with arousal.
When his body grew tense enough to snap, she pulled back and let his essence spill down the front of her shirt. Naomi had never shied away from performing the act, but she preferred not to stick around for the final fireworks.
Chance grunted with his release, vibrating beneath her hands as he toppled over the edge. Chest heaving and eyes closed, he shivered two more times before tilting his head forward and gracing her with the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.
“Good God,” he repeated, tugging her to her feet. “I thought I was going down.”
Naomi giggled. “I thought I was going down.”
With a heavy sigh, he cupped her cheek. “That you did.” Reaching for the hem of her shirt, Chance said, “Can we get these off now?”
She rose on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “Yes. Let’s do that.”