“You still have shampoo in your hair,” she said, because it seemed like the thing to say.
Houston rubbed his left hand over his wet hair and dropped his eyes to her tank top. A slow smile started to spread. “You interrupted me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Do you want some help rinsing?” Which was a ridiculous offer to make, given her sudden state of lust-driven paralysis. That close to him, her belly pressing his butt, her fingers in his short hair, it was highly likely she’d make a fool out of herself.
“I can get it.” Houston bent back over, holding his leg stiff. His bandaged right hand was tucked beneath the sink while his left hand worked the spray.
It wasn’t an efficient system. With only one hand, he couldn’t rub out the suds and he shot water just about everywhere but the top of his head.
“Here, I’ll hold the sprayer and you can use your hand to get the shampoo out,” she told him, coaching herself to be professional, friendly, nonsexual.
“I’ll hold the sprayer.” His voice was muffled by the stainless steel sink. “I don’t trust you with it.”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Flood your kitchen?” She took a step closer to him, drawing deep breaths that were completely platonic in nature.
“It’s possible.”
He got the water flow going in the general direction of his head, though quite a river was flowing down his back and soaking his briefs until they clung to him, damp and tight. Josie stayed clear of the butt zone, keeping a solid two feet between them before she leaned over and briskly rubbed his head.
Which vibrated his whole body back and forth. His sprayer hand shifted, sending a steady steam of water right into her chest. Damp cotton clung to her as she shrieked and tried to move out of the line of fire.
“What’s the matter?”
“My shirt got all wet.”
Houston didn’t say anything, but his arm readjusted and sent the water back towards his head. Josie took all ten fingers and raked along his head as fast as she could without removing his scalp until the shampoo was gone.
Chapter Thirty
Houston closed his eyes and tried to keep his teeth from rattling as Josie roughhoused his head. He could feel her nervousness, her body hovering behind him out of touching distance, and he wanted her. The way he did every time he saw her.
“Finished,” she said in a breathless voice that completed the erection he’d been working on in his briefs.
Josie clearly was going to stick to the just-friends idiocy, but the idea wasn’t sitting well with him. Hot dreams were keeping him up at night and lustful thoughts plagued him all day.
So he turned and directed the spray of water right at her already slightly damp chest.
While she screamed and threw her hands out, he smiled. “Whoops. I forgot to let go of the water.”
Then a long second later, he actually removed his finger pressure from the nozzle and took in the view from the top.
Josie had fabulous breasts dry. Wet, they could make a grown man weep in gratitude.
And they were wet now, with a clinging white tank top sculpted and molded to them, her pink nipples straining against the fabric as she blinked in shock.
“That water’s cold!” she said.
“Obviously.” Houston took another long, leering look at her nipples.
Her arms crossed. “Quit staring at my chest.”
Maybe in about a hundred years, when he’d had his fill.
“I’m in my underwear and you’re in a soaking-wet shirt. Do we still have to be just friends?”
“Houston...” She chewed her lips and looked ready to cave in and tear her top off. But then she gave him a pleading look. “It wasn’t right when we did it the first time, and it would be an even worse idea now. I shouldn’t have suggested another night at all. I’m sorry, but I just know it will be better if we try to be friends instead of more.”
Better for who? He reached for her, but she held up her hand.