From the Heart

lavishly soaping her skin.
    “Stop it!” Infuriated and aroused, Jessica fought against him. When his hand passed intimately over her bottom, she grew more desperate. Then she heard him chuckle. Temper had her head snapping back up though the spray made her vision vague and watery.
    “You listen to me,” she began. Soapy fingers passed over her nipple. “Slade, don’t.” With a moan, she arched away. His palm slipped between her thighs. “No.”
    But her mouth blindly sought his. Jessica no longer felt the cold.
    When she left the shower, she was glowing. Some color had seeped back into her cheeks. Slade noted it with a mixture of relief and pleasure though Jessica did her best to maintain outward indignance.
    “I’m going to go get dressed,” she informed him as she wrapped her wet hair in a towel. Because she was still naked, Slade found it hard to be offended by her haughty tone. Refreshed, he hooked his own towel around his waist.
    “Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes.”
    “I’ll be there,” she told him grandly as she stooped to pick up his shirt, “when I get there.”
    Grinning, he watched her slip into his shirt and button it. “I could get used to seeing you like that,” he commented. When she sent him an arch look, his grin only widened. “Wet and half naked,” he explained.
    “It’s that machismo again,” Jessica muttered, holding back the smile. Turning, she flounced to the door.
    “Ten minutes,” he reminded her.
    Jessica cast a baleful look over her shoulder, then slammed the door behind her. Her grin quickly escaped, then almost as quickly faded. David stood directly outside her own bedroom door, his hand already poised to knock. His head had turned at the sound of the slam, but he hadn’t moved. His eyes roamed over her, taking in Slade’s shirt, the damp, glowing skin and sleep-starved eyes.
    “Well.” His tone, like his eyes, turned cool. “I guess you’re already up.”
    Jessica felt more color flow into her cheeks. As close as she and David had been, living in the same house, they had never chanced upon each other under these circumstances. Both had always been extremely private about that area of their lives.
    We’re both adults, Jessica reminded herself as she walked toward him—but they’d been children together.
    “Yes, I’m up. Did you want me?” Part of her wanted to run to him as she had the day before; part of her no longer trusted so unconditionally. Guilt gave her a reserve toward him nothing else could have. Sensing it, he became only more distant and disapproving.
    “Thought I’d check with you before I went in, that’s all.” He gave her another brief, telling look. “Since you’re busy . . .”
    “I’m not busy, David. Come in.” Coolly polite, Jessicaopened the bedroom door, then gestured him inside. It never occurred to her that she was breaking one of Slade’s rules by talking to David alone. Even if it had, she would have done no differently. “Were there any problems yesterday I should know about?”
    “No . . .” His eyes rested on the bed, which hadn’t been slept in. His voice tightened. “Nothing to worry about. Obviously you’ve got enough to keep you busy.”
    “Don’t be sarcastic, David. It doesn’t suit you.” She took the towel from her hair and flung it aside. “If you have something to say to me, come out with it.” She plucked up a comb and began to drag it through her hair.
    “Do you know what you’re doing?” he blurted out.
    Jessica’s hand paused in midstroke. Slowly she lowered the comb to place it back on the dresser. She caught a glimpse of herself—pale, shadow-eyed, damp—and inadequately covered in Slade’s wrinkled shirt. “Be specific.”
    “You’re sleeping with the writer.” Shoving up his glasses, he took a step toward her.
    “And if I am?” she countered tightly. “Why should you object?”
    “What do you know about him?” David demanded with such sudden heat that she was rendered speechless. “He comes out of nowhere, probably without two nickels to rub together. It’s a nice setup here, big house, free meals, a willing woman.”
    “Be careful, David.” She stiffened as the anger in her eyes met his.
    “How do you know he’s not just a sponge? A couple million dollars is a hell of a target.”
    The angry color paled with hurt. “And, of course, what else could he be interested in, other than my money.”
    When she would have turned