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Gavin’s contented sigh. He sat with his eyes closed, his head leaning against the tile wall, his shoulders and elbows resting on the lip of the tub. Poor guy. He had shoveled twice as much as she had. Of course, he had the muscles for it.
    The thought that she would have to go back to reality buzzed in the front of her mind like a summer fly, but she flicked it away. Right now she was taking a luxurious bubble bath with a handsome, tired god. She was going to enjoy it.
    Maureen sat up, taking hold of each of his hands and making slow, firm circles up his forearms. Gavin didn’t open his eyes, but he groaned and she felt goose flesh form on his skin. She rubbed down to his wrists, then up his arms again, this time leaning forward to work up his biceps. His muscles were like rocks, but his skin was softened by the water. She felt him relax by slow degrees under her kneading. She moved up to his shoulders, tracing that delicious line that defined the muscle, reveling in his solidness. Then across his chest, pressing lightly with the palms of her hands, then her fingers. She worked up, around the back of his neck, pulling him forward and turning him—less gracefully and sensually than she had hoped—so his back was to her. Oh, that strong back. Broad and solid. She could see each muscle move as he flexed and stretched, responding to her touch like a cat. He shivered as she massaged up the back of his neck and onto his scalp, tilting his head back into her hand as her fingertips danced through his thick, dark hair.
    He reached around for her hands then, pulling her palms to drop a kiss on each one before placing them on his chest and leaning back into her embrace. They sat like that for a long moment, their heartbeats in sync, until he pressed a kiss onto her cheek and urged her up. This time she sat with her back to his front and he ran his fingers up and down her arms. He scooped handfuls of water and trickled them gently down her shoulders and her chest, following the rivulets with his fingertips. He repeated the process until she felt heavy and relaxed. He traced the last trickle down and cupped her breasts, finding the peak of her nipples. She squirmed under his hands but he shushed her and kissed her neck. She could feel his arousal against her back, and she squirmed again, hoping to tease him the way he was teasing her.
    But then he stood up. She was so caught up in her daze of relaxation and arousal that she didn’t have time to brace herself against the sudden loss of his support, but he caught her and tugged her upright.
    â€œWater’s getting cold,” he said, reaching for a towel.
    â€œBut—” she whimpered—actually whimpered—as he wrapped her in a fuzzy green towel and stepped out of the tub.
    â€œBut what? Do you want to catch pneumonia?”
    â€œBut I was just getting warm.” She ran a finger down his chest. He responded by vigorously rubbing his hair dry with his own towel, then wrapping it around his waist.
    â€œWell,” he said, tugging her close, “we can stay in that freezing cold water . . .”
    â€œIt’s hardly freezing.”
    â€œ. . . or I can light us a fire.”
    She might have paused for a moment to consider, but it sure didn’t sound like it.
    â€œYes, fire please.”
    He chuckled. “You dry off, I’ll light the fire.” He kissed her then, the kiss she had been waiting for since they got in the tub. It was hot and deep and she found herself standing on her toes to get closer. But he just pulled away.
    â€œHey,” she said, reaching him as he turned to leave the room. She only succeeded in grabbing his towel, though, which came unwrapped in her hand. He turned back at her, shrugged, and walked off toward the room full of books and fireplace.
    What was that saying? She hated to see him go, but she loved to watch him leave.

Chapter 12
    One mug of soup and one exceedingly silly TV movie later, Maureen