He rolled his head against the wall to stare at me.
And that was when I saw him properly.
Shirtless, toned, tanned.
Wearing the grey joggers from the picture I’d seen on his phone last week. The picture where I had seen far too much of him.
This bastard really wasn’t planning on coming at all! He’d probably just got out of bed to stop me from banging on his door.
My blood ran hot.
He didn’t move, only muttered in French, his voice so low, I couldn’t make out his words.
But I caught him murmur, “Livielividé.”
If he wanted livid, he would get livid. I stomped to the en suite, the only reprieve from the stench, and grabbed a bright white towel before pushing it into his chest.
He caught it, jaw tight.
“Shower. You stink.”
“Make me,” he purred.
So I put on the shower, checking the temperature with the sensitive skin of my elbow as if preparing a bath for a baby. Because that’s what he was. Fucking childish.
I flicked the water that trickled down my arm onto his face before gently pressing him towards it, hand on his chest. “Get in.”
He looked down at my hand before taking it. “Are you goingto leave or are you staying to see me naked?”
I paused, mouth hanging open. He was so close, unshaven and rugged and the rest of my arm pressed against his very smooth and solid chest.
“You’re welcome to join.”
“I’m leaving,” I snapped, and with the leverage of his hold, pushed him towards the gushing water again. He didn’t let go. I looked him over, the grimace almost painful on my face. “Why would I want to stay with you a second longer than I have to?”
He dropped my hand.
“I have to make a call to say we’re going to be late.”
“We’re not going to be that late,” he muttered, turning to the shower, thumbs in the waistband of his joggers.
“Yes, we will! You are making us late!”
I ran out of his en suite, slamming the door behind me.
No one had ever infuriated me so much.
Even his room was frustrating.
Two empty gin bottles were on the windowsill, and cans of tonic were everywhere. On the sofa was a duvet as well. Who had he had in here?
Cigarette butts were not just in the ashtray but across the TV stand.
I told myself I was tidying up just in case housekeeping took any pictures or found anything incriminating. But, really, I was doing just that. Trying to find anything incriminating.
White powder.
Tiny baggies.
