Hearing the bathroom door snick shut, my pulse skyrocketed into uncharted territories. I kept my eyes forward as I focused on breathing, which was strangely requiring a lot of effort.

The slightest movement behind me threw that hard work with the breathing out the window. Skin brushed against skin, sending a tight, intense shiver down my spine.

A moment passed and I felt the light touch of Zayne’s fingers on my shoulders, sweeping my hair to one side. His lips then pressed against the skin below the nape of my neck, and my toes curled against the floor of the stall.

Unable to keep silent in the highly charged silence, I said, “The de-Cayman-izing didn’t take very long.”

“I only got through the first layer before I grew too impatient,” he said, and I grinned. “It’s going to require another round later. Maybe a third by the looks of it.”

“I’ll do both rounds,” I offered. “Do you want the stuff for your hair?” When he said yes, I grabbed the bottle he used, the one that was both a shampoo and conditioner. If I used that stuff on my hair, it would be as dry as a bird’s nest afterward, and I had no idea how his wasn’t.

A companionable silence descended in the bathroom as we got down to using the shower for what it was designed for. The awkwardness faded even though I was overly aware of every moment his skin touched mine, when he reached around me to place a bottle on the shelf and his arm grazed mine. Or when I washed the shampoo and then the conditioner out of my hair, having to turn around to do so. My hip had brushed against his thighs, and he’d gone as still as a statue again. I’d kept my eyes closed through all of that, and when he reached for the body wash, I wished I had the courage to offer my assistance, but I was too afraid of sounding like a dork, so I kept quiet as the steamy air filled with the minty scent of whatever wash he used and the lusher tones of jasmine that came from the body wash I always used.

When he rinsed off and moved behind me again, I expected him to step out, but he didn’t. My breath caught as his hands glided down the slick, still soapy skin of my arms, over my elbows and then to my wrists. I hadn’t even realized until then that I’d folded my arms over my waist. With impossible gentleness, he eased my arms to my sides.

The edges of his wet hair brushed my cheek as he lowered his head, this time pressing a kiss to the spot between my neck and shoulder, where he’d nipped the skin and left a mark. “Sorry about that,” he offered. “I’ve never done that before.”