Playing Dead: Book One of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 3

The first icy shot of water hit my forearm, stinging my skin and making me jump back with a yelp; my back brushing up against the cool glass of the shower. I stood there for a moment, waiting for the heat to come gushing through the shower head and for the steam to begin to rise and then I finally dared to step forward, feeling the hot water soothe the goosebumps that had arisen on my skin. 

The stream quickly plastered my hair to my head and I reached up, smoothing it back off my face and revelling in the knowledge that the water was stripping my hair of the remnants of the night before. Hairspray, sweat, alcohol and smoke all dissolved and slipped down to the shower floor, swirling around the plug hole in a whirlpool, before being sucked into the pipes below. I leant forward so my body was fully under the torrent and pushed my hands up against the tiled wall, enjoying the feeling of the water massaging my neck and shoulders.

Closing my eyes, I saw his. Flickers of emerald that seemed to burn into my skin, leaving hot imprints wherever they touched.

I heard the creak of the shower door and warm hands creep around me, cupping my breasts as he pushed his body up against mine; automatically stiffening as our bodies met. I smiled, still feeling the heat of those eyes and instinctively straightened my arms, forcing myself backwards into his embrace and pushing my buttocks into his groin, hearing him suck in a breath. His mouth found my earlobe and he nipped at it with his teeth, letting his hand slide down between my legs, making me gasp and moan as his fingers slid easily inside.

"Missed you last night," he murmured and my eyes snapped open on hearing his voice; Brandon's voice, all deep and gruff, his East London accent that always enveloped me like the warmest, snuggest blanket.

For a moment, I couldn't speak. The rush of guilt swept through me and I quickly sought to suppress it, wishing I could send the memory of his eyes down into the drain with the water. Turning, I wrapped my arms around Brandon's neck and pressed my open mouth against his, kissing him deeply. He responded by pushing my back up against the slick wall and lifting me so my thighs were wrapped around his hips, grinding against me and letting his lips travel up my jawline until his head was nuzzled into my neck.

"Mmmm," he laughed softly. "I suppose this means you missed me too?" He pulled his head back slightly so he could look at me and I smiled, feeling strangely nervous under his scrutiny. Why did I feel like he knew? And why was I even worried? This was ridiculous. After all what had I done apart from talk to a guy who happened to help me out of a sticky situation? I'd done nothing wrong and yet here I was feeling cagey around my own husband, the man I'd been in love with since I was a teenager.

Attempting to shake off the uneasy feeling that snaked up my spine, I tugged playfully at the tousled curls at the nape of his neck and trailed my tongue along his top lip, gaining confidence as he grinned; his eyes blazing with pure want.

"I'll take that as a yes," he breathed and pushed harder against me. Moaning, I gripped him tighter and locked eyes with him, refusing to break his gaze. I knew he found it a turn-on and I would have loved to have said that was my intention. But it wasn't.

I kept my eyes open because I was too scared to close them. I kept my eyes open because I didn't want to see him.

*******

"So, what exactly did you get up to last night?"

My heart quickened and I hesitated, knowing instinctively that he couldn't have meant anything by it and feeling foolish that I was so quick to panic when I had absolutely nothing to panic over. I tickled the taut muscles of his stomach with my fingertips.