Looking down, he realized the towel was actually shaking in his hands.

Chase worked to calm down. He shouldn’t have stayed in the bathroom. He knew that.

But he hadn’t been able to help himself. And he didn’t think she had really wanted him to leave, either.

Still, some small voice of rational thought told him he should give her the towel before she dried all on her own. He held the towel out to her and she tugged on it before lifting her eyes to his.

“Hotstuff?” He watched surprise register in her face at what she’d called him.

Hotstuff.

“You’re talking to me, right?” he asked, glad to see her give him another one of those beautiful smiles that practically knocked him over.

“It’s a good nickname, don’t you think?” Before he could answer, she reminded him, “You need to let go of the towel.”

He knew that. But, hell, he wasn’t sure he could remember how to say his own name right now. So how was he supposed to get his brain to work enough to unwrap his fingers from the cotton?

“Sorry.” And he really was sorry, especially when she quickly wrapped the large towel around herself.

“That bathtub is really great.”

He was pretty sure he looked like an idiot standing there unable to respond. He’d accidentally watched her give herself what looked to be a really great orgasm and all she had to say was that the bathtub was great?

“I’m not sure the bathtub had anything to do with it,” he finally said.

He loved the sound of her laughter, loved the fact that it sounded less and less rusty every time he heard it.

She shrugged as she walked past him, tucking the towel into place between her incredible br**sts. “A guy should never underestimate the power of a well-placed jet,” was her response as she walked up to the mirror and began finger-combing her hair.

When he just continued to stand there and watch her from behind, she raised an eyebrow in the mirror. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

Hell no. He wasn’t tired. He was horny. As horny as he’d ever been.

“I don’t need much sleep.”

She nodded, turned to face him. “Well, I do.” With that, she walked out of the bathroom and to the door that led out to the hallway. “Good night.”

He dutifully headed to the door, long after he should already have been on his way. “Good night.”

Despite the fact that his hard-on was still raging in his jeans, as he walked past her, the kiss he wanted to give her wasn’t one that would have her begging him for another orgasm.

No, what he really wanted to do was press a kiss to her forehead. He wanted to give her a gentle kiss that would let her know she was safe with him.

That she would always be safe with him.

But he hadn’t earned that kiss and instinctively knew better than to take anything from her that she hadn’t offered.

He was halfway down the hall when he heard her say, “Hotstuff?”

Grinning again at the nickname she’d given him—that had to be good, right?—he turned around. “Yes?”

Despite the nickname, she looked serious again. Really, really serious. “Thank you. For everything you did tonight.”

His chest squeezed at her heartfelt words. And at the Thank you for everything you didn’t do that she wasn’t saying, silent words that rang out just as clearly as the words she’d said aloud.

“You don’t have to leave here and go to your brother’s house. I think I’ll be okay with you at the end of the hall rather than on the other side of the winery.”

Hoping that meant she actually felt safer with him in the house, rather than gone completely, he said, “Sleep well.”

“I think I actually will.”

And then her door closed and he stood staring at the place she’d been standing for a long while.

Chase Sullivan hadn’t realized that tonight his life was going to change forever.

But it just had.

And, amazingly—shockingly—he wasn’t the least bit interested in fighting that change. Instead, he was gearing up for a different fight altogether…for Chloe’s heart.

Chapter Five

Chloe woke up warm and well rested. Oh, she’d missed beds like this—pillow-top mattresses with soft, silky sheets and thick duvets that were light and yet perfectly warm all at the same time. Still, becoming her own person again these past six months since filing for divorce, even if it meant she’d been sleeping on cheap, scratchy sheets and a rock-hard single bed, had been better than soft beds and fancy shoes.

That urgency to start running again tried to steal through her, but for the moment she was just too darn comfortable to do more than stretch and snuggle down deeper beneath the covers. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but despite how nice it was to lie in the middle of a big bed like a lump of lazy, rather than rush off to the diner she’d been working in these past months to serve a bunch of ass-pinchers greasy eggs, she just couldn’t nod off. Not when thoughts of Chase kept sliding in, one after the other, insidiously sweet.

And hot.

She’d crawled naked between the sheets the previous night, so exhausted that she immediately fell asleep. But in the light of the morning that was now streaming in through the sheer curtains at the window, she remembered—in vivid, Technicolor detail—just what she’d done in the bathroom.

Just what he’d seen.

She instinctively covered her cheeks as they grew hot.

She wouldn’t beat up on herself for masturbating in the delicious tub. She wouldn’t even call herself out for the way his name landed on her lips as she came. And there really was no point in being angry with him for walking in on her “private time,” not when the only reason he'd come looking for her was because he’d clearly been worried about her. He hadn’t been hoping to catch her with her hand between her legs.

But what had come after—the fact that she hadn’t flat-out insisted he leave the bathroom, the way they’d teased each other, the fact that she’d actually called him Hotstuff to his face—she could hardly believe any of it had happened.

And yet, despite the way her stomach clenched as she tried to force those memories away, the small spot of warmth that had settled in behind her breastbone before she fell asleep remained.

All because Chase hadn’t come at her. He hadn’t frightened her. Or tried to dominate her in any way.

Some women, she knew, liked that sort of thing. They found it exciting to have their power taken away. Once upon a time, she’d been tantalized by fantasies of being held down. Of being bound. Of being helpless in her passion, of the idea of being able to let go completely with a man who loved her.