Daren rubs a hand over his mouth. Then over his head. Then his mouth again.

“Now what are you doing?” I ask.

He bites down on his fist. “I’m trying not to comment and how beautiful you are because I don’t want you to think I only see your body,” he says. “But it’s really hard because I’ve never seen anything so perfectly lovely in my life.”

I bite back a smile but can’t contain the heat that spreads over my cheeks and neck. But I’m not embarrassed. I’m flattered. “Quit being so afraid of me. You can look at me, Daren. I’m not going to hold it against you. I swear.”

“Oh thank God,” he says in one fluid breath, shamelessly looking me over.

I smile and snip the scissor blades, feeling strangely powerful under his hot gaze. “Want me to cut off your shirt?”

He looks down in horror. “But I like this shirt.”

“You really need to work on your attachment issues,” I say. “What are you going to do, wear it in the shower and then to bed and then all day tomorrow?”

“Ew. No. Definitely not.”

“Then let me cut it off and sew a new one on you after the shower.”

He lifts a puzzled brow.

“I sew. Trust me. Now, come on. Snip, snip.” I step up to him and he turns to the side and lifts his arm so I can cut up the seam.

With every slice of the shears, a small bit of his tan skin is revealed. The sides of his toned ab muscles. The ripples of his lean rib cage. The thick muscle of his pec and shoulder.

I realize I’m breathing heavy and shake myself as I cut off the remainder of his muddy shirt and strip it from his body.

Then the two of us stand in the bathroom, both in just our undies, as steam begins to fill the room from the hot shower spray behind us. Steam begins to build low in my belly as well and I’m suddenly nervous.

I want Daren but it’s hard to trust my desires when I’m not used to them being so powerful and overwhelming. Instead, I hastily turn away and slip into the shower, pulling Daren in with me by the cuffs.

The hot water feels amazing as it drenches my hair and runs over my shoulders and back. We shower without speaking, taking turns in the spray and with the soap as we scrub the dirt from our skin. The silence isn’t awkward but rather tense and filled with unspoken yearning. Every once in a while, my eyes get lost on Daren’s body, trailing up and over his muscles and masculine lines. And just like when I was fifteen, I want to touch him.

His eyes are better behaved than mine, staying primarily on my face or the shower walls. The new passion-ridden part of my soul doesn’t like this and wishes he’d stare at me like he was before. Wanting me. Seeing me. He glances at my breasts or panties every few minutes, but the desire in his eyes is brief and well controlled.

This just makes more pieces of my heart float over to his hands.

We go to trade places again and our eyes lock. In the running water, his eyelashes have clung together making tiny black triangles above his brown eyes. And up close like this, his brown eyes look deeper than usual. They aren’t just brown. They’re tan and golden, with a ring of green just around the pupil, and small flecks of yellow within the ring. They’re beautiful and… deep.

He smiles at me playfully. “You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”

YES, I DO.

“You’re relentless.” I smile. “Stop trying to get into my pants.”

“What pants?” He grins at my panties and I splash water at him. “I’ll have you know,” he says, “that I’m not trying to get into anything at this particular moment. In the shower.”

“Are you not a fan of shower sex?”

“Listen to you, talking about sex all casually in your wet black panties,” he says. “Are you trying to kill me? And to answer your question, no. I’m not crazy about shower sex.”

“Interesting,” I say, drawing out the word.

He shrugs. “Showering with a girl is hot, don’t get me wrong.” He gives me an overexaggerated wink and I flick water at him again. “But it’s not ideal. You’re standing up and there’s usually not enough space to maneuver in, and then you have to keep the girl wet in spite of all the wetness of the shower, but warm even when the hot water isn’t on her… it’s tricky. There are a lot of factors involved. It’s convenient for cleaning up afterward, but it’s not my favorite place to have sex.”

“I see,” I say. “So what is your favorite place to have sex?”

“A bed,” he says simply.

I laugh. “A bed?”

“Yeah. Why is that so funny?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought a Legendary Lover like yourself would choose someplace more exotic than a bed.”

“No way. A bed is the most ideal. It’s comfortable, so nobody’s knees or elbows or backs get scratched up. It’s warm, so the girl can relax and I don’t have to work twice as hard to keep my body heat around her. And it’s large, so there’s plenty of room to switch positions and move around.”

It sounds like he actually cares about and has put a lot of thought into making sure his sex partners are comfortable, and not just how easy it is for him to get off.

He runs a hand through his wet hair and looks at me. “What’s your favorite place to have sex?”

“My favorite place?” The question throws me for a moment and I scramble for an answer. “Well, it’s probably… I don’t know, maybe…”

He waits.

I frown at the shower wall.

“You don’t have a favorite place, do you?” He smiles, but more out of curiosity than amusement.

“Sure I do. I just need to think—”

His smile fades. “Do you not like sex?”

“What? Of course I do.” I move my eyes away and reach for the soap. “Everyone likes sex.”

At least everyone is supposed to like sex.

He’s quiet for a minute glancing over my face and body in a way that’s more clinical than sexual.

“What?” I snap.

He spies a stroke of mud still on my forearm, and gently takes my arm in his hand.

“I’m just trying to figure out why a girl like you wouldn’t like having sex. Trade places with me again.” He places his hands on my shoulders and we switch places so I’m now standing under the warmth of the shower and he’s in the decidedly colder side.

I huff in offense. “Just because I didn’t have a particular sexing spot at the tip of my tongue when you asked doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy sex.” I pause. “And what do you mean A GIRL LIKE ME?”

He slips the bar of soap out of my hand and slowly lathers it up against my arm. “A girl who clearly has a lot of passion in her soul and loves with her whole heart. A girl who has a lot to give but gives it with discretion. A girl who knows herself better than most and trusts herself even more.” He slips the soap back into my hand and proceeds to gently caress my arm, and then my shoulder, with both of his hands gliding the foamy soap over my skin. “A girl who cares for others deeply and finds value in the most rejected things.” He flicks his eyes to mine, stroking my skin as the hot spray runs the soap off my arm and shoulder. “A girl like you.”

The sound of the falling water fills the space between us as my head goes hazy with the gentle touches of his hands, washing me. I want to say something, respond in some way, but just like earlier in his room, I’m lost for words. All I feel and see is Daren and his deep brown eyes, caring.

“I like sex,” I say lamely.

He nods and takes the soap from my hands where my fingers have started to wrinkle from clutching so long. “You know what I think? I think sex is difficult for you to enjoy because you’re so pretty. I think having sex makes you feel used by guys—even the good ones—because they can’t see the real you.”

I say nothing, my eyes trapped in his words.

“Kayla,” he says, running his hands up my arms and to my neck where he cradles my face. “I’m not like those other guys.” The water continues to fall around us. “I do see you. The real you.”