He was used to his body being full of aches and pains—it was easy to ignore all that crap. What he was feeling toward that woman? It was like trying to pretend someone wasn’t screaming in church. . . .

His soapy hand wandered where it shouldn’t, going in between his thighs, sweeping up the underside of his erection.

“Fuck,” he gritted as he let his palm slide back down, the friction amping him up—

It took all he had in him to derail that damn hand. And he ended up washing his hair three times in an attempt to keep himself busy. Conditioned the hell out of the stuff as well. Of course, the best solution was getting out of the treacherous privacy and seductive warmth of the shower—but he couldn’t quite convince his body to head in the bath mat direction.

Before he knew it, his erection was doing the magnet-to-steel thing again and his palm was all about heading home . . . and he gave up the fight.

Dirty. Lecherous. Bastard.

It felt so good, though, that grip that he imagined was hers, the hold, that slide, that twist at the tip.

Besides, what were his options? Try to ignore it? Yeah, right. He threw on those pajama bottoms, he was going to be Barnum & Bailey obscene—a tent and then some. And he had to go see her downstairs before he crashed.

He had a warning to give his lovely attorney.

The last of his internal arguments hung around for . . . oh, maybe two strokes and then he got on the ride. Facing the showerhead, he planted one hand on the marble wall and leaned into his shoulder. His cock was heavy and stiff as his frickin’ forearm as he started to work it properly, his hand moving up and down. And the blast of fire that flashed up his spine made him drop his head and open his mouth to breathe.

In the gathering maelstrom, he refused to think of Grier. She might have been the cause of the arousal, but he was not going to fantasize about her while he jacked off in her shower. Just not going to happen. It was too skeevy and disrespectful—she deserved so much more even if she never found out what he’d done.

That was the last conscious thought he had before he was all about the orgasm: The head of his sex was so sensitive each swipe over the thing was a sweet sting that shot through his erection and dove into his balls. Spreading his legs farther apart, he got good and braced as he found his rhythm, the hot spray hitting his hair and running down his face as he began to pant—