First off, you may have noticed that I'm not Kathryn Hills. We did a switcheroo, but Kathryn will be back next month, don't worry.
When I heard the theme this month was April Showers Bring
May Flowers, as a romance writer my mind went to a place that normal
people’s minds wouldn’t have. Shower scenes! But, since we don’t have a warning
on this blog, I need to keep it clean (which I think is funny because, ya know, with
the soap and all…). But which shower scene should I share?
In thinking through my options, I realized something. I like
my characters wet! Whether it’s Killian and Bridey (SIN WORTH THE PENANCE) in a
shower on the Old Head of Kinsale, Ireland, or Sam and Kyle (TO HELL IN A COACH
BAG) doing the same in Denver. I’ve got Josh and Cassie (ROCK ME, GENTLY) falling into a pool
in Vegas, and the teenaged Chase (ABANDON ALL HOPE) daring Hope to skinny dip, along with the adult Chase and Hope in the waves near Los Angeles shooting a music
video. There's also the scene in SATAN, LINE ONE where Killian walks in on Josie in
the tub. Even in ROCKED BY GRACE we have Zane coming to apologize to Grace on
her fire escape during a storm. And there’s dozens more. I mean, you gotta see
what the hero looks like wet, don’t you? Just search stock art sites and you’ll
see how much people like a guy with drops of water clinging to him.
Holy moly! If I keep on with this, we’re all going to need a cold
shower. I will share a scene with you, but first…are you a shower person, or a
bath person? I love to send little gifts, but when I'm looking at bath bombs, I sometimes struggle to remember which of my kids and their girlfriends are shower people, and which are bath takers. My sister is a notorious bath addict--although
she refers to them as wishy-washies--and I follow that family tradition. Some
would say I’m a little obsessive about my foaming bath salts, but a gal needs
her suds, right?
Here's a shower scene (clean) from ABANDON ALL HOPE. First I'll give you a blurb to help you make sense of things.
It was one of those mornings for newspaper-writer/photographer Hope
Creswell.
The alarm clock didn’t go off and she cut her finger on broken glass. Twice! Not one to let such things
get her down, Hope headed into her assignment meeting with excitement, only to
leave it stunned. Her new assignment is to trail the sensational rock-star,
Chase Hatton, for an article. Chase
Hatton. No one knows the power that name holds for her. No one knows of the
childhood friendship that blossomed into romance, only to abruptly die on the
night of Hope’s senior prom. No one knows of the ache still filling her heart.
What starts out for Chase Hatton as an average publicity trip to
Chicago suddenly becomes complicated.
Chase's manager tells him Hope Creswell will be interviewing
him in the morning.
He spent eight years trying to forget Hope, and now
she would be in his penthouse in a matter of hours?
When Chase opens the door to his penthouse and finds Hope on the
opposite side, his heart begins beating a rhythm the rocker has yet to capture
in any of his music.
The smoldering embers of their former romance are
fanned by their mere proximity. Will they both be burned again? And what about
Hope’s boyfriend, Phillip? Where does he fit into the picture that Hope is
developing?
As Chase let the hot water pour over his body, taking with it
all the salt and sand which were deposited on his skin earlier, it dawned on him that
on the other side of the shower wall, Hope was naked. His movements stilled and
he stared at the marble as if he could bore a hole through it with his eyes. On
a whim, he reached out with both hands and touched the wall, then leaned his
forearms against it, letting the water flow over his back. He could just make
out her voice over their combined water use, singing. Since she hadn’t turned
on the jets yet, he was able to make out the melody of “In Your Eyes,” the song
they were shooting the video for. It hadn’t even been picked up yet by many
stations, but obviously she'd heard it. Did she guess the lyrics were written
with her in mind?
All I want is to forever be lost in your eyes,
To sing you my love, and to hear your reply.
I strum in the dark, put my heart on the stage,
To the roar of the crowd, but it’s your voice I crave.
I pace in the shadows and wait for my cues,
All the while wondering why I must pay these dues…
He pushed his arms out straight and raised his head to let
the water tap dance on his eyelids and flow over his lips and chin. Then, he
hung his head between his arms and let it pound into his shoulders, losing
himself in the sensations. He reached down and finally turned off the shower, then stepped through the open marble doorway to grab a towel from the bar.
He rubbed his hair, then patted the moisture off his body
before wrapping the towel around his waist. He moved over to the mirror, which was veiled
in steam, placing both hands on the marble counter to lean against it. He still
heard her sweet singing, if only in his head. He snatched a hand towel out of a
basket and rubbed an oval in the steam to peer at his reflection. Why the hell
did he ever agreed to let her do this story? Her nearness was like poison
running through his bloodstream, burning him from the inside out.
The landline rang in his bedroom. He thought about Hope’s email
message and rushed to pick it up before the second ring. “Hello?” He noticed the
jets turn off in the next room; she must have heard the phone, too.
Over the static, a male voice replied,
“Hello?Is Hope Creswell available?”
He hesitated only a second, moving in the direction of the
door. “Umm…she’s in the tub. Just a minute.” He hurried into her bedroom and up
to the bathroom door. “Hope, you have a phone call.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll be right out.” She sounded flustered. She
opened the door, jumping a little when she saw him standing there with a towel
wrapped around his waist, holding out the receiver. Her eyes grew wide, and she
quickly reached up to secure her towel with one hand and grasped the phone with
the other. Then she waited, pointedly, until he left.
He knew he shouldn’t be listening in on their phone
conversation, but he had to get dressed, didn’t he?
“Phillip. How are you? …Do I have my own room?”
Chase smiled.
His plan to make Phillip nervous about the accommodations worked.
“Well of
course I have my own room. What sort of a brazen hussy do you think I am? Oh.
That sort of brazen hussy. Oh my. You have been away too long.” She laughed in
that low, sultry way that gave him goose bumps. “You’re in London? That’s
fantastic. No kidding? Tomorrow? Sure, let me get a piece of paper to write
this down.” He heard her rummaging through a few drawers before she, evidently,
discovered a pad of paper and something to write with. “Go ahead. The Sunset
Astoria Hotel. Isn’t that expensive? Well, of course I’m worth it. I never
questioned that,” she teased. “But can you afford it? What do you mean
something special? All right,” she said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll have to wait
then. I’ll see you tomorrow night. You, too. I will. Goodbye.”
He listened for any type of reaction to the phone call—an excited squeal, happy humming, Hope throwing the phone against the wall—but he heard…nothing.
It sounds like What’s-His-Name is on his way back.
He knew perfectly well his name was Phillip, but he preferred not to acknowledge that.
