If anything he blamed Guerrero for this whole, ahem, awkward mess. After all it was Guerrero who suggested Chance stay with Ilsa while the building was being renovated after the CIA incident, which they never speak of anymore. It was Guerrero, who enthusiastically suggested the plan and suckered Chance into agreeing to it. It was amazing really, the things Guerrero could convince you to do. He was convinced it was more manipulating than convincing but whatever. It was still his fault and the blame would still be laid on him.
If not for Guerrero, he might have avoided the shower incident.
God help them.
If it hadn't of been so freaking awkward at the time, he might have laughed but a situation like that was just awkward. Especially with him and Ilsa because God forbid they talk about their feelings. It wasn't like feelings were a completely taboo topic, he just wasn't good at them. And apparently his timing sucked as well.
Erm, anyway.
The shower incident was either one that couldn't be avoided or one that they hadn't tried all that hard to avoid. He's betting on the former because he knows for a fact Ilsa makes sure he's showered before going to take her own in order to avoid any incidents. And he is male after all so it's not like he's not taking any chance he can get to appreciate Ilsa's form so it wasn't like he was going to be trying too hard to avoid seeing her get out of the shower - or wrapped in a towel, whichever. Needless to say, that particular morning it hadn't worked.
After a hot, steamy shower in Ilsa's wonderful shower that made his own seem crappy by comparison, he had stepped out of the shower, humming quite contentedly to himself - which if asked about, he'll deny. He had reached for a towel and things had gone downhill from there.
He should have known not to trust her sleeping habits - the woman had wound up in his bed, which was across the hall from her room, many a night since he had been there.
Yet he had and there they had been.
Him in nothing more than a towel - one of the more embarrassing ways she'd ever seen him, and her in a skimpy nightgown that covered nothing more on her than his towel covered on him. Oh and that wonderfully amusing blush that turned her face about thirty different shades of red.
Definitely not one of their finer moments.
He had only been able to stand there, his mouth open in shock as she backed out of the room, slamming the door behind her with a flustered, apologetic grin. Once he was positive there would be no more interruptions, he finished his morning routine and reluctantly headed downstairs to face Ilsa.
Oh boy.
This would fun.
He found her in the kitchen, wrapped a fuzzy white bathrobe, busying herself with the coffee maker. The heated flush on her face had cooled and she seemed a little more relaxed but that didn't mean this situation would be any less awkward.
"Ilsa.." He shifted awkwardly, waiting for some sort of response from the dark-haired British woman. "We need to talk."
"About?" Ilsa gritted her teeth as she slammed the carafe back into place and turned the coffee maker on.
"You know what." Chance sighed as he moved closer to her but still lingered far enough away from her to keep from embarrassing her anymore than she already was.
Ilsa squeezed her eyes shut, keeping her back to him. He may have been fully dressed but the mental image she had of him, most definitely was not. The mental image of Christopher Chance, in all of his blue-eyed-Machivellian leered-chiseled glory, standing in her steamy bathroom, dripping wet and wearing nothing more than a towel was still burned into her brain.
"Chance..." Ilsa shook her head, still keeping her back to him.
"Ilsa, it's not a big deal." Chance chuckled softly, "Okay sure, it wasn't one of the finest moments we've ever had together but it's not a big deal. I'd much rather you see what I look like in a towel rather than what I look like after a mission. I promise you that the former is much better than the latter."
"But it is a big deal!" Ilsa finally snapped, whirling around to face him. Her brown eyes were hard and cold. "It is a big deal."
"Why is it such a big deal, Ilsa?" Chance asked her, his voice dangerously low.
"Because you were standing in my bathroom and while I was embarrassed, all I could think about was how much I'd liked to have kissed you until we were both delirious." Ilsa clenched her teeth, trying hard not to let it show that, that particular thought hadn't exactly vanished even though he was fully dressed.
She was trying really hard not to picture him without the t-shirt. Not to picture him back in her bathroom, still dripping and wearing one of her white towels around his waist - a towel which may never get washed again no less. Not to picture the way the water had slithered over his toned abdomen. The way the steam seemed to make the man all the more sexy. Water vapor, of all things, could make the man look practically ravishing.
"So why didn't you?" Chance cracked one of his rare grins. "I wouldn't have minded."
"No but I would have." Ilsa closed her eyes against the sight of him, leaning casually against her counter with that sly grin on his face. "You weren't wearing anything more than a towel."
"And?" Chance furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "What's the problem?"
"I'm not sure how much self-control I could have...it's silly." Ilsa trailed off unable to finish. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Chance asked her softly, his tone almost tender. He pushed off the counter and walked over to her, "Ilsa, this thing between us...it goes no further than you want it too. If you're not comfortable that's okay. I know that the mystery surrounding your husband's death coming unraveled was a bit of a shock to you and you're still getting over that shock but that doesn't mean I'm going to take advantage of you and do something you're not comfortable with. Just like at the office, you call the shots here Ilsa."
"Are you sure?" Ilsa looked up at him.
"Absolutely." Chance nodded, reaching for her hips. "Now can I please end my misery and kiss you?"
Ilsa couldn't help but laugh as she wrapped her arms around his neck and let him pull her into his body. He felt good against her body, like he fit. The way his body molded to hers was something she had never experienced before but she enjoyed it nonetheless. It was comfortable and easy to have him this close to her. The hot, passionate kiss just made the whole experience seem a whole hell of a lot better. He backed her up against the counter, holding her there with his body as he buried one hand in her dark curls and braced the other hand against her back.
Perhaps seeing him in a towel wasn't such a bad thing. She might even get used to it after a while.
After all, sharing a bathroom was a tricky balancing act.
Hehehehe! Is this not the best mental image of Mark Valley EVER? I have nothing more to say. The story kind of says it all. I certainly hope you enjoyed. Leave me some love, Dolls!