The Agathas

Bella washed her hair twice, then dumped half a bottle of conditioner on the tangled mess, letting it soak in while she scoured her body with a liquid raspberry gel squeezed into a puffy ball of nylon.

Even a practical girl deserved a few luxuries, she thought, sighing with pleasure as the hot water rinsed away the grime and sweat of her afternoon encounter with Miguel.

She knew better than to let herself relax under the invigorating spray; as it was, she’d taken too much time already, and regretfully, couldn’t risk a long, leisurely shower.

But even a few minutes was better than none, and at least she’d be clean. And she’d also be able to think straight again, something she’d had trouble with since her first tangle with Miguel in the cattails.

It still haunted her that he’d surprised her as he had, that he’d sneaked up so quietly, so smoothly, and overpowered her.

Her pride was wounded, true, but more than that, he’d piqued her curiosity.

She couldn’t let go of the feeling that there was something amiss with the man, something that went well beneath the surface. And the more she thought about it, about him—which was constantly—the more curious she became.

Thinking back again to the night they spent together at Empress Hotel in Liverpool, and he told her that she was mistaken for someone else, Bella smelt a rat.

Still, she wasn’t here to be curious about Miguel, she told herself, washing the last of the soapy suds from her skin. She’d come here to find him. The fact that he’d found her, as well, was inconvenient, but still didn’t change anything.

Quickly she rinsed her hair, then turned off the water and grabbed one of the two white towels she’d tossed over the shower curtain bar. Bending at the waist, she wrapped her hair in the soft towel, then reached for the second one.

It wasn’t there.

She was reaching around the shower curtain to retrieve the fallen towel when it appeared in front of her face.

“Looking for this?”

Miguel!

With a small squeak, Bella snatched the towel from his hand while she darted back behind the shower curtain and covered herself. Damn, damn, damn! He’d gone through two locked doors. “Get out of here!”

No reply. “Miguel?” Still no response. After another long, silent moment, she peeked around the shower curtain. Arms folded, he stood with his back against the closed bathroom door.

Steam swirled around his long, muscular body. He’d changed into a black T-shirt that stretched tight over his broad chest. H

is eyes were dark and narrowed as he met her gaze, and she swallowed hard. He looked like the devil himself.

“Mr. Rodriguez, would you please remove yourself from this bathroom?” she asked tightly.

He slowly raised one dark brow. “What happened to ‘honey’ and ‘darling’?”

Since he obviously had the upper hand here, she’d humor him. For the moment, at least. “All right.” She sucked in a breath. “Darling, would you please get out of here?”

He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “No. You cane after me to spy on me, now I'm here no need of spying again, ask whatever you want to ask”

"Get out of my bathroom first!"

"No!"

He was laughing at her! She could see the amusement in his eyes. The shower curtain twisted in her clenched fist. She’d murder him. As soon as she had some clothes on.

“Miguel,” she mewed sweetly through clenched teeth. “Honey, would you please leave this bathroom and wait for me in the living room while I get dressed?”

Dropping his arms, he pushed away from the door and moved toward her.

She swallowed the gasp in her throat, refusing to let him see her fear, but preparing herself to fight him off if necessary. She clutched the shower curtain tightly to her, but held his gaze as he moved in front of her.

Her breath caught when he reached out and captured one long strand of hair that had escaped from under the towel on her head. His knuckles skimmed her shoulders while he gently rubbed the wet hair between his thumb and forefinger.

He leaned close, and she felt his warm breath fan over her cheek. “Call me ‘sweetheart’, and I’ll leave.”

He was playing a game with her, Bella knew that. And as much as she wanted to kill him for it, she also found it exciting, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She stood naked in the shower, with only a thin, plastic shower curtain and towel separating her from this stranger, a man she’d never laid eyes on until a few hours ago. Her heart pounded furiously; she could barely catch her breath. Her wet skin felt hot and tight.

“Sweetheart,” she whispered, still refusing to break contact with his eyes.

Immediately she wanted to snatch the single word back. The amusement she’d seen in his eyes only moments ago darkened to something else entirely. Something dangerous and primitive.

It felt as if the tiny room were closing in on them. Steam swirled around their bodies like a wispy veil of desire.

He still held her hair between his fingers, and she felt connected to him through the wet strands. When he brushed his knuckles over her collarbone, she shivered.

“Tell me how you got out of those ropes,” he said softly.

She kept her eyes steady, in spite of the fear slithering up her spine.

“Are you going to tie me up again?”

He smiled slowly. “Not unless you ask me to.”

Frowning, she lifted her chin at him. “Don’t flatter yourself…I'm an actress that had been casted in several movies about Adventure and action, I know how to even pull a trigger if i see one. Now will you please get out of my bathroom?”

He hesitated, then released her hair and stepped away. “You’ve got five minutes. If you haven’t come out, I’ll be back.”

The breath she’d been holding slowly escaped when he closed the door behind him. She stared for several long seconds.

"Five damn minutes!!"