Chapter 17

If you’d asked Tamsyn just a few hours before what she thought about sex in a bathtub, she would’ve said it was overrated,

the kind of thing that looked sexy in movies, but was never as good in real life.

That was before she slid into a bathtub with Bowen Penhallow, though.

She’d thought he might object again, pull that chivalrous card, insist they couldn’t do this.

Instead, he took two deep breaths, his eyes never leaving hers, and then he growled—an honest-to-god growl —and all Tamsyn could do was hang on for dear life as he pulled her back into his arms and kissed the absolute hell out of

her.

He was right—it was rough.

It was wild.

It was perfect.

His tongue tangled with hers, and she slid her hands over his wet biceps, loving the way the muscles bunched there as he held her so tightly, loving it even more when he suddenly sat up, sliding his hands down to her waist and easily lifting her up, turning her until her stomach was pressed against the edge of the tub, her hands braced on the rim as she went up on her knees, thighs spread wide.

Bowen was behind her, moving her hair to kiss the back of her neck, then lower, his lips moving over the knobs at the top

of her spine, and when Tamsyn finally felt capable of opening her eyes, she realized why he’d positioned them like this.

The mirror.

She could see herself, wet hair and pink skin, eyes wild and chest heaving while she clutched the edge of the tub, and him

behind her, his dark curls slicked back from his face, his beard dripping.

He was up on his knees as well, water spilling onto the floor, and Tamsyn found herself fascinated by the dark hair curling

on his chest, the way the small silver medallion he wore caught the light from the lamp, the focused expression on his face

as he smoothed a hand around the swell of her hip, his hand sliding forward to touch her exactly where she wanted him to touch

her.

His fingers were firm, the pressure perfect, and he might have said it had been a while, but clearly he’d picked up skills

somewhere.

Tamsyn wasn’t sure whether she wanted to tear that other woman’s hair out or send her an Edible Arrangement, but it didn’t

matter, not when he was touching her right now, looking at her body like it was some wonderful new magical artifact he’d just discovered.

Using his knee, Bowen spread her legs wider, and his fingers slid deeper, making her shudder and close her eyes.

But then she felt his other hand twist her hair around his fist, gently pulling so that she lifted her head, her eyes opening again.

“Look at yourself,” he commanded in a voice straight from her dreams. “Watch how gorgeous you are.”

And she was gorgeous. She was wet and her skin was pink and her mouth was open because she was breathing so hard, and her

breasts were pressed at an awkward angle against the porcelain, but she’d never felt more beautiful than she did right now

with Bowen’s eyes meeting hers in the mirror, the serious expression on his face one she’d seen before, but never like this.

Never for her.

And it turned out this whole year of fantasies had been a waste, because nothing—absolutely nothing—could compare to the real

thing.

Bowen’s hand slid back between her legs, and she didn’t close her eyes this time. She watched him and her in the mirror, the

way his hand was obscured by the side of the tub, but the flexing of the muscles in his forearm left no doubt to what he was

doing to her under the water.

She was close now, so close, but then Bowen groaned, and she could feel him, hard against her backside, and she let her knees

spread even wider. “Now,” she panted. “Please, Bowen, now.”

God love a man who knew how to follow instructions, because he slid inside of her easily, the fullness of him combining with

his touch to send her over the edge almost immediately, her cries bouncing off the tile.

Bowen cried out, too, his hands tight on her hips as he thrust, the water rocking around them, and Tamsyn kept her eyes glued on the mirror. He was so beautiful, his face contorted in a pleasure so intense it could’ve been mistaken for pain, and oh god, she was so in love with him.

So stupidly, crazily, completely in love with him.

And when he met her eyes in the mirror, she realized he might just be in love with her, too, and that was enough to have her

shuddering again, her head falling forward so that her hair brushed the puddle of water on the tile as behind her, Bowen gave

one last shout before pulling out of her, his hand dropping to his cock, but Tamsyn was already reaching around, taking hold

of him and pumping once, twice, then hearing him cry out again as he came, warm wetness spreading over her palm as they both

lay there, panting.

Ruined.

Wrecked.

Then, still trying to catch his breath, Bowen asked, “Wild enough for you?”

Tamsyn wanted to make a quip. She probably had a dozen, at least six of them werewolf jokes. But all she could do was croak,

“Yup.”

His laugh in reply was the best thing she’d ever heard.

“That was actually very annoying,” Tamsyn said several minutes later when they were dry and tucked into their massive bed. The fire was higher tonight, but they were both still so warm from the bath—and what had happened in the bath—that they hadn’t even bothered with pajamas tonight, lying naked under the sheets.

“That was... what?” Bowen asked, turning his head to look at her. His hair had started to dry, curls rioting around his

head in a way that was wildly endearing and so cute Tamsyn was fighting the urge to wrap one around her finger.

“Annoying,” she repeated with a sigh as she rolled to her back. The sheet slipped down to her waist, but she didn’t care,

lying there with one hand thrown up by her head, the other flat on the mattress beside her.

“The sex?” Bowen clarified. “The... the sex was annoying?”

“Oh, no, the sex was amazing, ” Tamsyn said, shaking her head before turning to look at him. “That’s what’s annoying. You’re already really smart and very

handsome, and so being good at sex is, as you Brits like to say, overegging the pudding, frankly.”

Bowen rolled onto his side to face her, his head propped on one hand. “I consider myself a fairly smart man, Tamsyn, but talking

to you is occasionally like trying to translate... I don’t know, Greek into Welsh, and then maybe into some dead or dying

language. Like Cornish.”

“Or summat,” she finished for him, and he smiled at her, reaching out to tweak one nipple.

“Glad to see this hasn’t changed one thing between us,” he said. “You’re still going to give me shit no matter what.”

“Yup,” she confirmed. “Even if we end up stuck in 1957 forever, I’ll still be here, making fun of you.”

Bowen’s expression grew more serious then, his finger coming up to trace the line of her nose. “We’re not going to get stuck here,” he told her. “If the two of us can find ourselves together, how hard can it be to convince Harri and Elspeth to get back together?”

“Maybe we should introduce them to that magical bathroom,” Tamsyn suggested, and was delighted by the absolutely horrified

look that came over his face. “Bowen, you do realize your grandparents have to have sex for you to exist, right?”

“I can realize that on an intellectual level without ever having to think about it or, Rhiannon forbid, picture it.”

“Fine,” Tamsyn said, sighing as she slid farther down into the bed. “First thing tomorrow, we come up with a plan to fix their

whole deal that doesn’t involve you having to think about your grandparents doing it.”

“Don’t say ‘doing it.’”

“Shagging.”

“Stop it.”

“Making the beast with two backs.”

“That one is genuinely vile, and I’ve never understood it.”

Grinning, sated, and happy—god, too happy, scary happy—Tamsyn reached for him, and it felt so good how easily he slid into her touch, his nose playing along her jaw, his

lips and tongue placing a wet, sucking kiss just beneath her ear.

“But that’s for tomorrow,” she said, already sliding a thigh over his hip. “Now what was it you mentioned earlier about me

deserving sex in soft sheets?”