After a day like today, a hot, hot shower like this is exactly what I need, Katie Peretti Frasier thought, with a sated sigh as the steaming spray melted away the tensions of the road like ice cream pooling under the glow of a sunny day. She pressed her hands against the front of the tiled wall, her arms bent as the heated water poured over her head in liquid abandon.

She would have stayed like that forever, or at least ten more minutes, if rivulets of lukewarm had not begun to invade the steaming heat. With a heavy sigh, she straightened and turned the knobs, not wanting to dilute the thrill of the hot water with final memories of coolness.

As the drizzle faded away, she heard knocking at the bathroom and then her husband's accented "Katie?" Hurriedly getting out of the shower, she reached for the one towel. She stopped and stared at it for a moment, taking in the incredibly threadbare quality and sheer lack of size - next time they went on a trip she was taking Craig's credit card so they could stay at better motels. Shaking her head, she grabbed it. He's seen me in less, she thought, with a slight grin. Making her way out of the bathroom, she headed towards the door, wrapping the thin towel about her figure as securely as she could.

"Katie?" She heard him call out again just as she reached the door. She unlocked it and pulled it open slightly, sticking her dripping head out.

"Yes, my sexy husband?"

Not glancing up from the roadmap before him, Simon began speaking and headed in the room. "I've been trying to make sense of this map. I have no idea where we are or how we're going to find this stupid family reunion. And why are we even bothering --" He looked up and stopped speaking. His eyes widened slightly and then they quickly danced up and down her barely clad-body before he looked away, his mouth tightening.

"How did you hear my knock?" He asked, a slight harshness in his voice.

Katie leaned against the door, her hand holding the corners of the towel together. "I was just stepping out of the shower when I heard you."

Simon nodded, smiled tightly and then said, "I'll come back later." Without looking at her he headed back towards the door. Her "why?" stopped him.

"Katie --" he broke off with a light laugh and Katie was delighted to see a slight blush upon his face. She knew she should drop it, let him leave, she'd get dressed and he would come back later, but something about that blush prompted her to play, just a little, with him.

She pulled away from the door and spread one hand, "you've seen me in less. I mean, that night in the car …" She trailed off suggestively.

"Yes, but not - I mean, it was dark and not all of the clothes came off, if you recall. And I was drunk." He reminded her, all the while refusing to look at her. Instead, he looked about the room, anywhere - anywhere -- but at her. Katie noticed this with a grin. She also noticed how his jeans were suddenly, noticeably tighter just below his belt. She felt a delicious shiver run through her body even as the (barely there) sensible side of her nature told her to leave it alone.

But when had she ever listened to the sensible side of her nature? Seeing where this all led -- if it led anywhere at all, please let it lead somewhere, she silently begged -- would be much more fun.

"Simon, is this getting a little too hard for you?"

Noting her grin from the corner of his eye and indignant at her oh so cute comment (no matter that it was true), he looked sharply at her, and then found his gaze roving over her wet, glistening body, all silk and curves, covered only by that tiny towel -- he tore his eyes away.

"No," he stupidly denied as he cast a sideways glance to the wall next to her. Out of the corner of his eye, she saw him nod, her eyebrows raised. Smiling, an imp of humor invading his inescapably wanton thoughts. "Okay, Katie, yes, this is getting a bit hard." He closed his eyes briefly, sighing, and then essayed another glance in her direction, his gaze lingering as one lone drop of water meandered down her throat, over the swell of her breast, slipping beneath the thin material of the towel. His breathing quickened and he looked away quickly, studying a particularly horrid painting of a red lake by a one Homer Shawburne.

As her husband scrutinized the artistic talents of the Mr. Shawburne, Katie took great delight in the sure knowledge that her husband was getting a tad turned on, if the blush on his beautiful face, the steam heating the green of his eyes, the bulge in his jeans were any indication. She shifted slightly, wondering if he would admit it, if he would actually come out and say that seeing her thisclose to naked after all this time was driving his hormones all the way to Australia and back.

"So is this a problem?" She asked wickedly as she moved away from the door and did a little pirouette, the threadbare towel flouncing slightly in the air.

Looking back at Katie, he looked away in a flash. She --, damn, he thought with a hungry sigh, she looks so very, very good, but, he firmly reminded herself, this is a marriage in name only, one of convenience and she knew it. She would soon enough stop playing her little siren's game and just drop (the towel? his libido eagerly asked. The game, his sense, irritably replied), all he had to do was brazen it out and then he could leave and take his libido and its libidinous thoughts with him.

"Well, Katie, you're," he paused and took a deep breath, his voice a bit harsh, "wet."

"And?" she questioned, her grin widening.

"You might catch cold."

"You're worried that I'm going to get sick?" And she asked the question as if it were the stupidest thing she'd ever heard.

Well, it was pretty stupid. Sighing, he ran a hand over his face and did his damndest not to look at her. Fine, fine - she wanted the truth. He could be honest. "Look, Katie, you're a beautiful woman, I'm not blind." Damnit, he actually felt his body tightening as he said the words. And this was not funny any longer. Then, when was it funny to begin with? Katie, near-naked and glistening, was many things, but funny was not one of them ... no, tantalizing, devastating, delicious. Oh yes, many things and why was it so much easier to see all of those things the longer he stayed with her. God, she was getting to him.

"Thank you, Simon. You're a beautiful man," and then she added without missing a beat, "so this makes you feel uncomfortable?" He could hear the smirk in her voice and just wanted to erase it. Just because he wanted to rip that towel off of her and do naughty things to her, she had no business acting like she was this Venus sent from heaven to tempt the living hell out of him. Even if she looked exactly like a Venus sent from above would look.

"I wouldn't go that far," he replied calmly and forced himself to look at her, managing to keep his eyes on her face. But, God, did he ever want to wander lower.

She looked at him, noting the supreme effort it was costing him to assume such a placid demeanor and knew that now was the time to let it go, but the look on his face, the fire in his eyes, the stance so tightly controlled yet slightly trembling that refused to be maintained by his alleged composure, was causing a reaction in her that she couldn't deny. She liked seeing him so close to undone. Liked it a lot. Simon was so close. So close and if he gave in … if he gave in, all of her dreams would come true.

And so she did not drop it as she probably should have, instead, she allowed the effect that she was clearly having on him lead her thinking, and subsequently, her talking.

"How far would you go?" she asked, her voice suddenly high and heady, her liking making the quick leap to wanting when a tell-tale shiver traveled across his body. Had a man ever responded with such aching awareness to her before? She knew that the answer was no … and she knew that right now, at this very moment, Simon Frasier wasn't thinking of any other woman. Only her. Only his wife.

He felt his body harden all over as the teasing left her voice and the almost painful wanting filled her words. It aroused him to a pitch it had taken every other woman time, technique and effort to reach. How could she be doing this? How could he want her this badly, this much when for so long he had been content with wet dreams and cold showers? Perhaps it was the overture that she was making, such a bold one she'd never even made when she was throwing herself at him regularly. And it had been months since she'd even done that. But, his eyes closed tight, this was a marriage in name only. Name only.

"Katie, this is just ... distracting."

"Why?" Why wouldn't he just admit it? She wanted him to so badly. At this point, she needed him to. It was so obvious that he wanted her. Her, Katie, why couldn't he just admit it?

Why? He repeated the word inwardly. Ooh, not going there. He didn't want to deal with this, didn't want to answer her question, play this game. He wanted to get the hell out of the room now. He wanted to stare at her soft, wet body, sans towel. He wanted to rip his clothes off and make mad, passionate love to her. That last thought brought his gaze back to her with a jerk. He wanted her.

But … he shouldn't, he shouldn't. He didn't want to hurt her and in the long run she would hurt. And he thought this and he meant this even as his eyes continued their shifting dance over the thinly concealed area of her flesh. "Why? I just - Katie, you know how I feel about us and this marriage and this is distracting because … hell, Katie it makes me think thoughts I shouldn't be thinking, not about you, not if I want to keep you from being hurt even more than you already have been."

She couldn't help but smile at his words. He loved her. He did, he just didn't realize it. But he loved her. He wouldn't feel that way; he wouldn't want to protect her heart if he didn't already cherish it.

And so she couldn't help the smile that lit her face - a full, eyes alight, face a-beaming, teeth a-gleaming, smile and damned if he didn't choose that moment to tear his gaze from her beautiful body and look at her beautiful face. His breath literally caught.

"What kind of thoughts?" She asked softly, so beyond wanting and needing to hear him say it, that she didn't know where she was, just that it wasn't where she wanted to be.

Simon didn't answer her; he couldn't answer her. Instead, he headed to the door. The fact that she was standing right in front of it was something he chose not to ponder. Upon reaching the afore-mentioned door, Katie took a quick step back and once more leaned against the hard frame, effectively cutting off his exit.

"What kind of thoughts?" she repeated. He was so close; she could feel it. He wanted her, God, he wanted her as badly as she wanted him right now and, damnit, he would admit it so that they could get around to doing something about it.

He stood stock still, knowing that in his state if he were to touch her, even for the few seconds it would take to move her out of the way, it would unman him. They were at a standstill. Seconds stretched in the room between them, silent tension filling the air.

Sighing heavily, she leaned against the door, thrusting her chest forward. "There was only one towel." He shook his head, wondering anew at the direction of her mind.

"And …"

"My hair's wet," she informed him.

"I can see that," he responded, quiet frustration lacing his words. Her hair was wet, wonderful. Her hair was wet.

She nodded and continued, "It's dripping, all cold and uncomfortable. It's dripping down my back." She smiled softly, sweetly - pure and innocent. And he mused that virgins had never been his thing, but the fact that she was thisclose to being a virgin (and had in fact lost that precious state to him) enflamed his already enflamed hormones. Still, somehow he managed to keep his tone cool, despite the look, despite what he would be looking at if she took his about to be given advice. He simply could not resist - how often was he able to accurately read where her tangled mind led? He just could not give up this opportunity; it might never come again.

"Then dry your hair, Katie."

She paused for a moment, not quite believing what he had said. Did he? She narrowed her eyes and gazed at his serene expression. And then she got it; of course, he didn't expect her to actually drop the towel. She was brazen, but she'd never managed that level of brazenness before. Well, there was a first time for everything.

He looked calmly at him, she wouldn't do it; he was sure. She was, after all, thisclose to being a virgin. She was silent for a moment, and he wondered what she was going to do instead, and then she simply shrugged and slipped the towel off and began toweling her hair dry.

He cleared his throat and tried his damndest to look away.

He could not. Oh his eyes could move all right, up and down and over her body and oh, she was a natural blonde. He gulped quietly, and his jeans seemed to shrink about twenty sizes. Very nice, he thought, rather calmly, he thought. I want, his libido demanded.

"My hair's dryer," she informed him as she peeked out from beneath the towel, not really sure where to go from here. He still hadn't admitted that he wanted her, and she was standing here, naked as the day she was born and she just knew that her skin was tinged a bright pink right about now.

"That's nice," he replied absently, his voice somewhat hoarse, his eyes still locked on her naked body.

"Now the towel is wet," she handed him another piece of information, her mind still searching for further inspiration. I could just ask him, she thought.

Finally managing to meet her gaze, he murmured, "poor baby," without the slightest hint of sympathy and somehow turned around, heading back towards the bed. He wasn't exactly sure why he was heading towards the bed, just that it seemed the right thing to do. It also seemed a good idea to turn back around. She was, after all, a beautiful blonde standing before him naked. He was only a man. And so he turned to see her shrug, and it was a delightful thing, before she flung the towel across the room, towards the bathroom door.

Simon looked to the sound of wet cloth smacking against the hard frame and watched it slide effortlessly to the carpet. He looked back over at Katie who stood there, naked and wet and beautiful, an aching vulnerable on her face as she tried to act natural. And there was a hopeful look in her eyes and, damnit he wanted her. He did. She was his wife and he cared about her. He cared … he did. Cared a lot. And she loved him so much and would it be the most terrible thing in the world if they … if he …. She sent a smile his way and he closed his eyes briefly.

No it wouldn't. A smile formed on his lips, "Katie, are you expecting to get lucky tonight?"

She smiled, an altogether sexy smile that in combination with her wet, glistening body sans towel, was far too sexy by half. "Only if you are."

"So."

"So." She responded, that hopeful vulnerability lighting the word.

"Simon, do you want to get lucky?" And she wasn't joking; she was as serious as she could be. "Come on, Simon, tell me, what do really want?" She looked at him, and he saw a yearning in her eyes. She took a few steps towards him and there was an intensity and determination in her movements, on her face. And he fully believed that luck was in luck tonight.

"I want ..." he began and trailed off, licking his lips. She nodded her head, just slightly and took another step towards him. He didn't move; he didn't back away at all. Not that he had much to back into other than the bed, and that was a good thing. A very good thing.

She could see it in his eyes, just feel it on the tip of his tongue. She took another step forward and then she was standing right in front of him, the heat of her body drifting over his. Beads of water still clung to her and he longed to feel that wet, soft body against his. Reality intruded for a moment, they couldn't do this. Wouldn't. He shook his head, but she didn't step away. This was crazy.

"Katie, this is not gonna happen!" His eyes pleaded with her in vain, urging her to agree.

She didn't. Of course, she didn't. "Why not?" There was a soft sweetness to her question, striding merrily alongside the passion. She loved him; wanted him and had married him in the full belief that one day he would be hers completely.

He looked into her eyes, full of so much love all for him and resistance just didn't seem all that important. All that suddenly mattered was never seeing that look go away. "Why not?" he whispered almost to himself and he delighted in the joy that filled her face.

She nodded and then said softly, huskily, sexily, "what do you want? Tell me, Simon."

And he found herself drowning in that voice and honesty decided to make an appearance. "I want you."

In a heartbeat, she pressed against him, her arms winding about his shoulders as her mouth opened to him. Her fingers clutched at his hair as he stood up suddenly, bringing her with him. She pulled away from his kiss and stared up at him for a solitary moment, needing to catalogue the sight of him like this, his face flushed, his lips moist and parted, for all time. Oh, he wanted her, he wanted her indeed, she rejoiced with feminine exultation. She breathed in the scent of him as he smiled lightly, his face lowering as he placed his lips upon her flaming cheeks. Grazing his tongue along her sensitive skin, he wound his way down, tasting the salty tang of her flesh.

She pressed her mouth against his chest, her fingers hurriedly undoing the rest of the buttons. The shirt came off and she rubbed her hands up and down his arms, luxuriating in the hard strength of him.

He fell back onto the bed, bringing her onto his lap. Rolling over, he looked at her flushed form beneath his and asked himself, why did I wait so long? And he wondered this even as he pulled away, undoing his shoes, his jeans, his eyes taking in the full beauty of her before him.

He lowered himself back down onto the bed, resting beside her. She stared up at him, her breathing heavy and erratic. "Simon, I want you," she whispered, her arms reaching up to pull him down to her. And the repetition of the words that he'd heard so many times before held a special meaning in this moment from this woman, bringing them beyond perfection.

He looked at her, her flushed face, her radiant eyes and felt a remarkable sense of joy and tenderness unite with the fierce arousal raging through him. Leaning down, he delivered a chaste kiss, incredibly chaste, wanting to offer that tenderness and joy to her, things missing from their first time together. So he gave them to her now as he touched her gently, as he brought her to passion, taking the time and the care that he hadn't that cold night last October.

"Katie," he whispered as their heavy breaths mingled in the air. "Katie," he repeated and then was quiet again. She ran her fingers through his hair, trailing down his nape and then stroking his back.

"I know," she whispered softly.

He pulled away slightly and turned his head so that he could look at her. "That was ..." he paused and his lips curved.

"I know." She sent a smile full of joy and satiation his way.

All of the times that he'd had sex before it had never been like that. He felt connected to this woman, his wife, truly and completely connected. He couldn't help but ask, his voice filled with wonder, "why did we wait for so long?"

And she raised an eyebrow at the 'we;' her response tart, "that I don't know."

Laughing, he leaned in for a kiss. Her lips parted as his tongue slipped in, mingling with hers, creating a lovely little dance that they both enjoyed immensely. His hand curved about her head, pulling her up and closer to him. She sighed into his mouth as he pulled away, tenderly running a finger along her cheek. "I love you," she murmured, emotion thick in her voice.

"I know," he told her, not ready to say the words himself, but knowing - knowing that he was getting closer every moment.

She smiled as if reading his mind. And they were quiet; the only sound in the room was their breathing. She opened her eyes and stared up at the motel ceiling, finding it the most lovely ceiling she'd ever seen before. He moved slightly against her and she lowered her eyes, finding the dark strands of his hair an even lovelier sight. He didn't know it yet, but he loved her … it was just a matter of time. And time was most definitely on her side. It'd gotten her this much, she was willing to wait a little bit longer.

After all, good things come to those who wait. The man lying in her arms, his breath soft against her face was living, loving proof of that.