Then he began to barrage her with slow, intense strokes. Deep thrusts that proved how sensitive her tissues still were, how easily he could reawaken her desire.

  He sank down, down into her body, each plunge of his cock inside her turning up the heat of the sweet, urgent need reemerging inside her. She felt her body clasping at him, clutching him as if she never wanted to let go. Fire licked her clit, fueled by that insistent thumb of his.

  Suddenly the impossible was not only probable but imminent as sensation skyrocketed, spurred on by his insistent gaze. His unyielding stare encouraged her to take more, give more, even as his body demanded it.

  Orgasm hammered her with pleasure again as she exploded, contracting around him with twice the force. A wave of dizziness flattened her, amazed her with the potency of her climax. Above her, Rafe gritted his teeth between fast, pounding strokes. He swelled inside her, stiffened, and let go of his control. Kerry heard her own cry, loud and hoarse, now mingled with his.

  Breathing hard, Kerry lay back against the bed and closed her eyes, feeling the out-of-control beat of her heart slowly return to normal. A part of her wondered if the rest of her would ever be normal again.

  Rafe lay over her, cocooning her head between his elbows. Beyond satisfaction, the seductive feeling of being safe and protected remained, quietly growing in strength.

  They exhaled as one.

  “Look at me,” he murmured.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. Nerves assailed her suddenly. Gee, it was a little late to be worried and anxious. The deed was done. That realization didn’t stop the butterflies from kicking the walls of her stomach like contestants at one of Mark’s martial arts tournaments. What did Rafe think? What would he say?

  When she met his gaze, the nerves disappeared. His gaze burned molten with knowledge and satisfaction and promise. Despite the perspiration dampening his sideburns and the rumpled state of his hair, he looked amazing to her. Her heart tripped at the tenderness on his face.

  Down, girl! Rafe was a fantasy. Not Mr. Right, just Mr. Right Now. She had to keep her heart out of this agreement. He would leave soon, probably no later than Wednesday. Their bargain would end even sooner. Getting tied up in the guy was just stupid, stupid, stupid.

  And something she couldn’t afford.

  “Amazing,” he whispered. He brushed her mouth with a soft kiss.

  With that soft word, Kerry felt her heart trip again.

  Oh. My. God.

  Thoughts spun in Rafe’s brain. Unfortunately, that was one of the few functional parts of him at the moment. His legs? Not a chance.

  Again, Kerry staggered him. Yes, she’d been incredibly tight—but he’d been expecting that. Predictably, her body had enclosed him, clasping with a wet suction he’d damn near felt to his toes and curdled his mind against everything except the moment he could get inside her again. She’d blown him away with her enthusiastic acceptance and boisterous participation, and the incredible trust she had placed in his hands. Her uptilted green eyes were a window to her every thought, every reaction. She concealed nothing, offered everything. He’d never known anything like it. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise him to learn he’d been more nervous than her. Because from where he lay—standing was still out of the question—she seemed a lot braver than he’d imagined possible.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “No wonder people write songs and books about sex.” She slanted him a dimpled smile from a face flushed with latent passion. “This makes me question Oprah and her first book club selections. Who would choose to read that depressing stuff? Maybe she needs to talk to Stedman about what he’s doing wrong in the bedroom.”

  Rafe laughed. How had she gone from orgasms to Oprah in one thought? Only Kerry . . .

  “You’re a crazy woman.”

  “Oh?” She arched a brow. “You’re the one still lying on top of me . . . and growing harder by the moment if I’m not mistaken. What does that say about you?”

  “That I’m the village idiot, no doubt.”

  Victory shone in her satisfied smile. “I love to hear a man admit his faults. I wish you could teach that skill to my brother.” Suddenly, the light dimmed in her eyes. “But you won’t be here that long.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Kerry’s deflated expression warned Rafe that things between them would get tangled if he wasn’t careful. Encouraging her wasn’t smart. They were here to fuck and help her brother, and these short hours together weren’t reality. They both had lives—over a thousand miles apart. Besides, he sucked at relationships. Why bother? Good times, good sex, an easy parting; that was his speed.

  That didn’t mean, however, he wanted Kerry to regret what they had just done. Or to have done it only to bail her brother out of trouble.

  “I’m, um, going to grab a quick shower. Can you let me up?”

  Her withdrawal was nearly palpable. She focused on a spot on the ceiling, just over his shoulder. Still braced on top of her, Rafe found himself reluctant to let Kerry go. But doing so was the only smart move.

  Slowly, he rolled away and watched as she grabbed her discarded towel, wrapped it around her gorgeous curves, and disappeared into the bathroom. If she’d slammed the door, that would have given him some indication of her mood, but no. Tears, anger, and blame he’d halfway expected. Only a quiet click heralded her exit.

  He frowned. Maybe she wasn’t pissed or regretful—just a little replete. That he could handle.

  With a grimace, he pulled off the condom. Traces of blood reddened the latex. With a frown, he deposited it in the nearby trash can. Though he’d come like a geyser and he couldn’t deny concern for Kerry, Rafe’s cock stood hard as granite again. All it had taken was a glimpse of Kerry’s bare thigh and shoulders, still rosy in the aftermath of passion, and he was ready for more.

  Well, they’d agreed to forty-eight hours of unrestrained sex. They’d just proven their encounters would be completely mind-blowing. Hell, try beyond his comprehension. Reality could come later—much later. The only thing he wanted coming now was Kerry, followed closely by himself.

  With a smile, he stood on shaky legs. He wandered to the nightstand and grabbed a fresh condom, then hesitated. Imagining Kerry naked and against a wall in a steam-filled shower made his cock jerk and rise even harder against his belly. He grabbed a second condom, just in case.

  Whistling a cheerful tune, he made his way down the hall. He grabbed the doorknob and turned.

  It was locked.

  What was up with that? The blood on his condom sparked a memory. Was she hurt, by chance? Or more upset than he’d thought?

  “Kerry?”

  No response.

  He knocked. “Okay in there?”

  Nothing. Shit. What if she was crying, or God forbid, seriously bleeding? He knew more about origami than virgins, and that wasn’t saying much. Maybe he’d hurt her somehow.

  Again, he banged on the door. “Kerry?”

  Still nothing.

  Quickly, he retrieved a wire hanger from the closet and twisted it up with a curse. Seconds after applying it to the lock, the catch gave way. His anxiety stayed firmly in place as he shoved the door open . . . only to find Kerry gloriously naked in the huge, glass-enclosed shower. The hot, dual-headed spray of water kissed her body, front and back. Would he love to set one of those sprays right on her honey spot and watch her throw her head back and gasp as her pleasure spiked . . . He set the condoms on the bathroom counter and closed the door.

  “How did you get in here?” Her voice held a startled note as she turned away.

  Rafe tossed the mangled hanger onto the floor, opened the shower, and stepped inside.

  “Picked the lock. You’re okay?” he asked as warm water hammered tense muscles.

  “Yes.”

  The word itself implied fine. The tone . . . slightly arctic. Relief and confusion tumbled over one another. She was okay but locking doors against him? And why would she be mad? No wonder he was bad at relationships; women were so confusing. Why didn’t they come with manuals or a help file he could access by pressing F1?

  “ ‘Yes’? That’s it?” He glared at her in question.

  “I just wanted a few minutes alone to think.”

  “Why the locked door? You can’t think unless you’ve got a deadbolt between us?”

  “P-R-I-V-A-C-Y. Or didn’t they teach you to spell at St. Bovine’s Academy for the Insanely Overprivileged?”

  Despite his irritation and concern, he couldn’t hold in a laugh. “St. Bovine’s? Catholics don’t worship cows.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Actually, dear old Dad sent me to The Beekman School in Manhattan. And yes, they taught me to spell . . . for the most part.”

  “Is it the concept of privacy you’re having trouble with? Should I explain?”

  What the hell was up with her? Rafe made it a policy never to know too much about the inner workings of the female mind, but this he had to figure out. “How did I know you weren’t hurt?”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I would have told you. Can’t a girl be alone?”

  He thought about that. Granted, the few minutes it took her to shower didn’t represent a significant chunk of the time they had to spend together. Why object if she wanted a few minutes to herself? Call him a caveman, but he did object.

  “If you’re only going to use it to dredge up reasons to be pissed off, then no locked doors, Kerry. Until tomorrow night, you’re mine to take anytime I want, anywhere I want, any way I want. You’re clear on that, right?”

  “You’ve reminded me plenty of times. I get it.” She turned a cold shoulder to him. “But I didn’t sign up for Big Brother.”

  Attitude. That, along with Kerry’s stay-away body language, told him that something was troubling her. The sex? She’d seemed pretty focused on the pleasure at the time but . . . was she thinking of Mark and his problems now? Wishing she hadn’t gone through with this, after all?

  No. She’d been fine, until that comment about his not being here to teach her brother to acknowledge his faults. So she was upset by the realization this affair couldn’t last? He hoped she was smarter than that, but she was barely experienced and might be listening to her emotions more than her logic. Or he might be totally confused and utterly screwed.

  As he stared at her truly amazing backside, Rafe did something he found himself often forced to do in Kerry’s company: He counted to ten.

  “I’m not your brother,” he reminded her harshly.

  She hesitated. “Good thing, too, or that would make pretty much everything we just did illegal in fifty states.”

  Was this even the same woman who’d been in his bed panting his name fifteen minutes ago? Rafe brushed the question away. She’d promised to make herself available, and he wanted her now. She wasn’t shutting any more doors against him, not when they had a lot more sex to have. End of story.

  “Why are you standing in the shower with me? I mean, okay, you’re not my brother. So what are you? My own personal Peeping Tom?”

  “Yeah. Peeping, touching, stroking, fucking. But if you’re upset about something, spill it. Don’t make me guess. I can’t read your mind and I won’t try.”

  Kerry hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t mean to be witchy. The last few days have just been a lot, you know? Sex was heavier than I thought. I just wanted a minute alone.”

  Suddenly, guilt gnawed at him. She’d had a big day already and it wasn’t even nine.

  “Sorry. Look.” He turned her to face him, fascinated by the haphazard upsweep of her sunny curls, the little drops of water running down her fair skin . . . the vulnerable expression he’d never seen her wear. That made him want to hold her—something he usually saw as a big waste of time. “We’ve got a lot of hours ahead of us to enjoy. Let’s not worry about anything else now, all right? Later will take care of itself.”

  With a gentle touch to his shoulder, she nodded. “You’re right. Sorry if I growled.”

  “No sweat. Let me find the soap and do my thing. Then I’ll leave you alone for a while.”

  “It’s okay. Stay,” Kerry whispered, stepping closer, nearly into his arms.

  She didn’t have to ask him twice.

  Rafe closed the distance between them and looked at her. Just looked, wishing he could read her mind. Did she really want time alone for space, or was she already putting distance between them? That thought bothered him. After all, one time together relieved her of her virginity. Maybe that was all she wanted, or she hoped that put an end to their bargain.

  Not even close.

  Kerry met his glance with a question in her soft green eyes. Rafe lifted a hand to her cheek. He couldn’t stop himself. Not touching her was impossible at that moment. And it wasn’t just about getting inside her, though God knew he loved that idea, too. For now, he just wanted her near. Wanted to kiss her.

  With a dip of his head, he took gentle possession of her sweet lips. She yielded, opened, feeling so damn good. She moaned softly into his mouth. Something warm and honeyed spread inside him as he leaned against her. From chest to thigh, they touched. He pressed her against the water-warmed tile and kissed her as if tomorrow didn’t exist. In a way, he wished it didn’t.

  A sudden mechanical whoosh startled them both. Shit, was someone here?

  On alert and in battle mode, Rafe clapped his hand over Kerry’s gasp and gazed around the small shower, looking for the source of the noise. It was more than water spraying. More than the drain taking water away. Too close to be a door opening in the rest of the cottage.

  He looked around the small black cubicle and found the source of the sound.

  At the far end of the shower, a panel in the wall had retracted, revealing a hidden eighteen-by-eighteen compartment all decked out in matching black marble tile—and filled with items that alternately had him holding in both laughter and drool.

  With a crooked smile, he glanced between the treasure trove and his still-sweet Kerry. “Oh, babe. This party’s about to get a lot more interesting.”

  Chapter 7

  Interesting? Mischief lit Rafe’s gaze as he reached around Kerry, blocking her view of the open compartment. When he wore an expression like that, she trusted a used car salesman more. “Define interesting.”

  “I’d rather show you.”

  His crooked smile made her heart pick up speed. She noticed a telltale moistening of parts south. Lord, what this man did to her. And she’d locked him out of her shower. What had she been thinking?

  Of the future, of going on without him. Of the hour close at hand when she’d no longer have Rafe’s touch, see his smile. Surprisingly, she found these very unhappy thoughts.

  She wasn’t in love with him or anything. Maybe having sex with the incarnation of all her fantasies had fried her brain worse than an overdone egg on the breakfast platter she served at the diner.

  Ya think? the little voice in her head mocked. She told it to shut up.

  Seriously, being with him felt a lot like she imagined a relationship should be. They laughed together, teased each other, argued passionately, had amazing sex before they started all over. Somehow she doubted she could ever get bored. And while he challenged her, she never felt unsafe, as if he might hurt her or push too far. She’d never clicked with any guy on so many levels. For sure, she’d miss the connection.

  But Rafe was right—worrying about that now was pointless.

  “You’re all about showing me, aren’t you?” She smiled.

  “Every chance I get, babe.” He looked back at her with a wink. “And if you don’t give me chances, I’ll make them.”

  With that, he grabbed something into his sizable hand. “Now, this is what I call soap.”

  He opened his fist to reveal a pale, palm-sized soap shaped like a lush breast, complete with a turgid berry nipple. He rubbed it slowly across his chest, down his abdomen. Bubbles clung to his taut golden skin, sliding down, down . . . Kerry’s breath caught in her chest as he eased the soap between his legs, swiping the breast back and forth over his testicles—all while his gaze pinned her in place. His hands swept up over the hard erection jutting up. She swallowed as she watched him slowly encircle his penis, now thick as her wrist and standing nearly to his navel, and soap himself, stroke himself. He moaned softly. She had no idea why the sight turned her on; it just did.

  Mesmerized, Kerry pushed his hand aside. She clutched the hot width of his penis with her fingers instead, stroking him up and down. He was like silk, like steel, solid, amazing, so male. Touching him, watching pleasure spread across the hard angles of his face, thrilled her. She wanted to see him come, see his expression when he found satisfaction. She wanted to be the one to give it to him.

  Her brazen behavior shocked her a bit, but not enough to stop.

  With a kittenish smile, she increased the tempo of her strokes.

  Eyes closed, Rafe dropped his head against the wall. “Damn, woman. You get me there.”

  His rapid breaths, followed by moans, escalated her arousal. Her own breathing wasn’t too steady. Neither were her knees, for that matter. All she knew was that Rafe’s thighs and chest tensed, the muscles in his wide shoulders rippled with every movement, his erection stiffened even further in her hands. He had to be close . . .

  “Not now.” The strain in his voice was evident as he shoved her hand from his shaft. “Not like this.”

  “Why not? I was having fun,” she protested.

  “Much more of that would have put an end to the fun. Now it’s your turn for a little soap,” he whispered as he reached past her again. His voice sent a shiver of anticipation sliding down her spine.

  This time, he extracted a small soap in the shape of a man’s penis—and a very hard one with pinkish testicles.

  Kerry burst out laughing. “Dominating Dave strikes again. He thinks of everything.”

  “Who?”

  “Jason’s uncle. This place—we call it the Love Shack—belongs to him. He’s a wealthy real estate developer on the West Coast, but he built this retreat so he can bring his girlfriends and tie them up for hours of bondage heaven. Apparently his wife isn’t into that sort of thing.”