I jumped, lifting my attention to his face, and felt my own flush. Furious Rafe scared the shit out of me, and naked, lustful-looking Rafe made me just as nervous. Both versions were passionate and cold, stable one minute yet irrational the next. I lowered my gaze to his erection. Moisture collected at the tip, and some secret part of my psyche celebrated. I did that to him, without even touching him.

He couldn’t hide his desire like I could mine, collecting between my closed thighs, stowed away and out of sight.

This was the first time I’d felt anything during the past two days. While locked away in the dark, I’d found a way to shut down. Maybe I’d experienced a delayed reaction to the horror of nearly drowning, but when he left me alone in that cellar, shivering more violently than ever before, my brain simply stopped functioning like normal. Somehow, I’d found a way to cope.

I’d pretended to be somewhere else. Someone else. I’d made up a new identity. In my new dream world, I called myself Amy. Amy was plain and boring and absurdly happy. Amy had a loving, devoted husband, two adorable kids, and a perfect, non-smelly dog named Zippo. Amy lived in the south, possibly Arizona, where it was dry and sweltering under the sun.

“Get in,” Rafe said, bunching his hands, and the fantasy of another life dissolved, leaving cold, hard truth in its wake.

I resisted the urge to cover myself as I entered the shower. Next to his beautiful physique, my filthy and unkempt body with curves in all the wrong places paled in comparison.

He stepped in after me and turned on the dual shower heads. Hot spray filled every corner, hitting us from all directions. I gasped when he shoved me against the freezing tile. Without a word, he grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squirted some into a palm before rubbing both hands together.

I closed my eyes and focused on breathing as he started washing my hair, but when he added more soap and slid his hands down my shoulders and over my breasts, I almost came undone, unprepared for those hands gliding over me. As his fingers blazed along my skin, I wrestled with my demons, the ones that lived to remind me of what a dirty whore I was. I’d never experienced what was considered a normal physical reaction to sex, the ability to enjoy it without the threat of force or violence. No one had ever made me feel like this. Rafe had more power in a single touch than Zach had in his entire being.

The heat flaming between my thighs was undeniable, unbearable, and I whimpered when those strong hands drifted over my stomach and smoothed down my legs.

“I’ll have to buy you a shaving kit.” He caressed behind a knee. “I want to shave these legs.”