Free Silk on the Skin: A Loveswept Classic Romance by Linda Cajio

she wasn’t aware of it.
    Pleased, he said, “Thanks. Unfortunately, it won’t help the clothes.”
    “I’ll throw them in the washer.…”
    Her voice trailed away, and she stared dumbstruck at him. Grinning back, he admitted he’d wondered when she’d realize she’d have a naked man on her hands until the clothes were dry. It was quite an ego-booster to know she was worried about that fact. Obviously she was no more inclined to friendship than he was.
    “This
gentleman
would greatly appreciate being clean,” he said. “Clothes and all.”
    She swallowed visibly, then started up the stairs again. “It’s only sensible, isn’t it?”
    He followed behind her. “Yes. It’s plain old common sense to allow me the use of your shower.”
    “I have a long terry robe you could probably fit into while your clothes are drying,” she offered, without looking at him.
    “Good. I’d hate to have to eat dinner in the bathroom, for lack of clothes.” A white, clearly unweathered board drew his attention, and he asked, “New step?”
    “Mmm.” Her gaze intent on the top of the stairs, she said, “All a part of owning a home.”
    A few minutes later they were inside, and he was setting the basket and other things on the kitchen table. He wasn’t surprised to discover Cass’s home was neatly and expensively furnished. Impressionist prints shared wall space with soaring bird figurines. The sleek lines of Danish furniture contributed to the near-Spartan look. And yet the comfortable atmosphere of “home” permeated the house. He shrugged. Maybe it was the multicolored afghan thrown atop a swayback rocker, or the proud display of china in the glass-fronted cabinet. If nothing else, her home would have told him she was no bubble-headed female.
    His skin itched, and he dismissed his musings. He admitted that if she hadn’t offered the use of her shower, he would have commandeered it.
    “Can you handle them alone?” he asked, tapping the wooden cover of the basket.
    From the other side of the table, she raised an eyebrow and said, “Go take your shower, Dallas.”
    He made a face. “Right. I’ll leave the clothes just outside the door for you.”
    “I’d appreciate that,” she said dryly, and movedto the kitchen work area. She pulled out a large speckled enamel pot from an oak-and-glass cabinet. Taking it to the sink, she began filling it with water.
    Dallas frowned, as he sensed her coolness was an attempt to distance herself from him. He’d let her get away with it for a little while. At least until he was human again.
    Once inside Cass’s blue-and-white-tiled bathroom, he quickly stripped away his offending clothes and, cracking open the door, dumped them outside.
    “Okay!” he called out, then shut the door.
    Going over to the tub, he turned on the faucets full blast and twisted the center knob to “shower.” Beautiful plumes of steam rose up, curtaining the cascade of water. He smiled as he adjusted the boiling temperature to a barely tolerable level. He would have killed for this, he thought.
    He stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed.
    In the tiny laundry room, Cass shoved Dallas’s clothes into the washer, dumped in detergent, and set the timer. With a sense of resignation she watched the machine chug to life. She wished she had been thinking straight and had suggested he go to his hotel to clean up and come back for dinner. It was downright ridiculous to think of these things
after
the fact.
    Okay, she thought, knowing the damage was done. The sexy man was now naked in her bathroom. Big deal.
    She could handle this. After all, she was a mature woman who had simply suggested a sensible solution to his predicament. He was filthy, and she had the soap and water. That was all there was to it.
    Images of the way his muscles had rippled under smooth male flesh ran through her mind. She forced them out. She remembered how her gaze had continually focused on the crisp mat of hair