His hand moved with aching slowness, the washcloth shivering over her inner thigh and then slipping between her legs, swiping with just the right amount of pressure, both soft and rough, over her sex. Annika gasped, throwing her head back as Hudson worked the washcloth over her. He kissed the arch of her throat, moving upward until her earlobe was between his teeth.

“Give yourself to me,” he whispered, his voice commanding but fraught with desire.

She did; she had no other choice. As one hand rubbed her with the washcloth, the other cupped her breast, the ball of his thumb roving her nipple. Annika’s hips moved in rhythm, her body quivering on the edge, almost flying over—and then he removed his hands completely. Panting, she opened her eyes and looked at him, dazed, frustrated.

He was flushed, his eyes almost black with desire, but he was sitting up and away from her. “Not yet,” he said, tracing his finger over her lower lip, his eyes on her mouth, her throat, her breasts. “I have plans for you, Ms. Dev.”

“But—” Annika couldn’t formulate a response. Her mind was spinning, her body crying out for his hands. “I—”

He grinned, a lopsided, mischievous thing that made her want to rip his clothes off. “Good things come to those who wait.”

There was a knock on the door. “Room service!”

“I’ll be right back.” Hudson draped the washcloth over the edge of the tub and strode toward the hall, closing the bathroom door behind him.

Annika sat up straighter, her body buzzing, every nerve ending eager for more of his careful, tantalizing attention. What kind of lover was Hudson Craft? When they’d been together in Vegas, he’d been … talented, of course, but she hadn’t seen this part of him. She hadn’t yet been seduced by him.

A thrill went through her as she heard the front door close. A moment later, Hudson walked in with a bottle of Dom Pérignon and two champagne flutes on a silver tray. He smiled at her and set the tray on the counter, popping the cork and pouring two glasses in silence. Annika could hear the drinks fizzing, the bubbles popping against the sides of the flutes.

Hudson brought her a glass and she took it, gulping down a deep swallow. “Mm.” She let her eyes drift closed for a moment. “That’s good.” Setting the flute on the edge of the bathtub, she leaned back, watching as Hudson sipped his champagne and walked back to sit by her.

“Now,” he said, a glint in his eye. “Where were we?”

“You were washing me,” Annika said, the wantonness in her voice both surprising her and not.