Shameless. Ann Major

high in the sink. She didn’t have to answer all life’s questions today. All she had to do was to convince Phillip to help her until she could find a job and could get back on her feet. He knew people. Maybe he could even get her a job if he wanted to. The Phillip she remembered liked to help people. Surely he’d help her. Even her. Surely—

      “Phillip?”

      Again, he didn’t answer, but when she stepped into the hall, she heard his shower running. At the sound, she almost stopped breathing. Paralyzed, she stood outside his bedroom door until the water was turned off, and she heard the same old pipe that had always moaned groan and rumble. The shuddering sound broke the tension and she laughed.

      They’d made love in that shower more times than she could count. She leaned against the wooden wall behind her and fought against the memories.

      “Phillip?” she called again just so he wouldn’t stomp out into the hall naked.

      “Just a minute.”

      His deep, sexy baritone sent a shiver down her back, and that was before he stepped out of his bedroom into the hall in skintight, faded jeans that weren’t zipped all the way up, rubbing his thick, dark hair with a white towel.

      Oh, dear, he looked so good, and she was so grimy. She wished her mouth didn’t taste so stale.

      He tossed the towel back into his bedroom. She’d forgotten that when his dark hair was wet, it had a tendency to curl.

      Her eyes fastened on his brown, muscular chest and flat belly, on the whorls of black hair running up and down his lean frame, before roving hungrily back to his rugged face.

      Oh, dear. He’d stayed in shape. But, of course, he would. Phillip had the Marine Corps can-do, will-do, damn-it-to-hell-and-back attitude. He was disciplined, focused. He could make a plan and stick to it.

      Not like her, who dreamed and wanted and then sometimes got lost in the day-to-day problems that came with living. Things that needed doing didn’t always get done, and things she enjoyed doing were savored instead. She tended to drift and get nowhere or go hysterical and do nothing to solve her problem. She could waste days paralyzed by a mood. Which was why she’d landed on his doorstep without a dime of her own and looking even cheaper than the first night they’d met.

      Some homecoming.

      And Phillip? He was as handsome as ever, dangerously so. His mouth was wide and hard, his lower lip as sensuously kissable as ever. Oh, dear, she felt the old familiar ache to press her lips to his. He’d been so good at kissing, too. Too good.

      Seven years on the ranch working outside had hardened his face and etched lines beneath his eyes and around his shapely mouth. He looked older, harsher, and yet…and yet he was still her Phillip.

      Her Phillip? Don’t be ridiculous!

      He hadn’t shaved yet, so his square jaw was covered with black bristles that made him look tough and virile and good enough to eat. Used to, he’d let her shave him in the shower before they’d made love.

      Quit thinking about “used to.”

      When her eyes rose to his, he flushed. She felt her own skin heat when she realized he was staring at her breasts.

      “I—I didn’t have time to buy new clothes.”

      “How come you left Vegas in such a hurry?”

      Her eyes widened in blank shock. The last thing she could tell him was the truth. He’d really despise her. Oh, why hadn’t she checked into a motel and freshened up? Why hadn’t she given herself a day to get her story together, a day to buy clothes and makeup?

      Because unlike him, she wasn’t a planner. Besides, she’d been too hysterical.

      Instantly his silver eyes went opaque, and he met hers unsmilingly as he waited for her answer that didn’t come. Suspicious, his carved face was a mask of military, tough-guy expressionlessness. Not by so much as a flicker of a black eyelash did he reveal that the sight of her in his hall looking weak and helpless and yet sexy and wild in a slinky black gown ripped to the thigh might disturb him.

      His hard gaze returned to her breasts. The fact that he couldn’t take his eyes off her body made her feel a little better. Even though she felt shyly nervous that he still found her desirable—she still felt better. Which was ridiculous. She wasn’t here for sex or love or anything like that. She didn’t want him wanting her. She didn’t!

      Liar.

      “I must look a terrible mess,” she said with an air of innocence that was completely false. Idly she fluffed her hair. “You look good,” was all he said. But his voice was bitter.

      He stepped into the light and she saw the deep cut on his cheek.

      “You’re hurt.” She slid across the hall and raised her hand, intending to touch him.

      “It’s nothing,” he snapped.

      Still, she came closer. Before he could move, she had her hand on the hot, rough skin near the ugly wound, her fingers tracing its edges tenderly.

      “Oh, Phillip….” There were tears in her voice. “What happened?”

      “Don’t!”

      “Did you go off on some silly mission again?” she asked.

      “As if you give a damn— I could’ve died for all you’d care.”

      She had cared, but better not to go there, she thought.

      He grabbed her hand, intending to push her away, but the minute he touched her, she went strangely breathless. So did he.

      Their eyes met, locked. On a raw, tortured note he whispered her name and she whispered his back, her voice as tremulous and lost as his.

      Then it was as if they were caught in a spell. Some power outside of them and yet a part of them took over. Before she could stop herself, or he could push her away, she flung herself toward his hard, powerful body. Then she was in his arms, hugging him, clinging with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed.