“
I rolled away from him with a gasp of laughter and hopped out of bed. “I need a shower.”
Jack followed readily. I stopped short as I flipped on the switch in his bathroom, an immaculate well-lit space with contemporary cabinetry and modern stone vessel sinks.
But it was the shower that left me speechless, a room made of glass and slate and granite, with rows of dials and knobs and thermostats. “Why is there a car wash in your bathroom?”
Jack went past me, opened the glass door, and went inside. As he turned knobs and adjusted the temperature on digital screens, jets sprouted from every conceivable place, and steam collected in white drifts. Three rainfall streams came directly from the ceiling.
“Aren’t you going to come in?” Jack’s voice filtered through the sound of abundant falling water.
I went to the glass doorway and peeked inside. Jack was a magnificent sight, all bronzy and lean, a sheet of water glimmering over his skin. His stomach was drum-tight, his back gorgeous and sleekly muscled.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” I said, “but you need to start exercising. A man your age shouldn’t let himself go.”
He grinned and gestured for me to come to him.
I ventured into the maelstrom of competing sprays, battered with heat from all directions. “I’m drowning,” I said, spluttering, and he pulled me out of the direct downpour of an overhead spray. “I wonder how much water we’re wasting.”
“You know, Ella, you’re not the first woman who’s ever been in this shower with me—”
“I’m shocked.” I leaned against him as he soaped my back.
“— but you’re for damn sure the first one who’s ever worried about wasting water.”
“How much, would you say?”
“Ten gallons per minute, give or take.”
“Oh my God. Hurry. We can’t stay in here long. We’ll throw the entire ecological system out of balance.”
“This is Houston, Ella. The ecological system won’t notice.
”
”