A Valentine from Harlequin

She was throbbing with excitement. She jogged into the adjoining bathroom, where she stripped then stepped under a pounding stream of hot water.
    She shrieked when the shower door opened, then shook her head. She might have known he’d follow her.
    Even through the steam billowing around her face, she could see he was naked. Gloriously naked and looking even better than she remembered.
    She felt his scrutiny and shivered at the hungry expression on his face as he stepped into her shower without an invitation—or a lame joke about washing her back. Without any words at all.
    His hands ran down her glistening, wet body then gripped her wrists, pulling them high above her head and resting them lightly against the steamy white tiles.
    In that position the water struck her breasts, bringing her nipples to pulsing attention. With his free hand he picked up her lemon/lime body wash and squeezed some on her loofah. Then he ran the rough, soapy surface over her breasts and belly.
    She moaned at the combined sensations of warm water, rough sponge, and slippery soap, then moaned again as he returned the loofah to its spot and, cupping a breast in his hand, bent to nuzzle her tinglingly clean nipple. His mouth was teasing, demanding, making her wild with wanting.
    After treating both of her breasts this way, he rose to kiss her mouth. He pressed his body tight up against her tingling breasts and abdomen and she felt his erection, hard and heavy against her belly.
    She wanted her hands free so she could touch him, but he either didn’t notice her tugging or chose to ignore it.
    Since her hands weren’t free to caress him, she rose on tiptoe and spread her legs until his erection sprang free and she could trap it between her thighs. She began moving her pelvis, rubbing his hardness against the magic spot that ached with need.
    He groaned, his kisses growing more demanding. The water pounded against his shoulder, her breasts, splashed against her face. The steam smelled of citrus.
    At last he let go of her wrists to stroke both his hands all the way down her sides, to her hips.
    “I need you now,” he whispered.
    “Yes.”
    He cupped her upper thighs and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, opening herself to him as he thrust deep inside her.
    Not the pounding spray of the shower, not even his mouth covering hers, could completely muffle her cries as he drove deep within her body to the places that had been so empty without him. When the sweet ache was more than she could bear, she squeezed him even more tightly to her and let herself go. His own groan of satisfaction soon followed.
    “So, that was goodbye, then,” she said as calmly as she could as they dried off using the big white fluffy towels she kept in her bathroom.
    “Hell, no,” he said. “That was just a warm-up.”

Chapter Five
    The phone rang while Charlotte was in the middle of an energetic Sun Salutation. She smiled smugly feeling a sense of euphoria that wasn’t entirely Yoga-related. Her body was warm and limber this morning and completely relaxed from her night of loving.
    She hoped it was John on the phone. He’d said last night was goodbye, but it wouldn’t be. Not if she had a vote. Sex that fantastic—no, she corrected herself—lovemaking that fantastic wasn’t something you threw away for no good reason.
    The odd thing was, now that he’d officially renounced their engagement and said goodbye in his own spectacular fashion, she believed him. Deep down, she must always have known he and Sonya were discussing business strategy in that hotel room.
    Maybe John was right and it was the whole wedding thing that had freaked her out. Death do us part and all that. With both her parents divorced—twice each—and her older sister’s divorce almost final, she hadn’t wanted to make public vows. What if she failed? What if she and John were terrible at marriage?
    But was her yearning loneliness really any better?
    Her brow furrowed as she fought the unease she’d felt since she’d awakened alone this morning. He always used to stay for breakfast and early morning chitchat. It was one of the routines she’d loved.
    Had he meant what he said? Was he really only replacing a bad memory with a good one?
    She unwound herself to answer the phone. “Hello?”
    “It’s John.” Warmth flooded her body at the sound of his voice—echoey, which probably meant he was on his cell.
    “Good morning,” she practically