The door opens slowly, and Santiago steps in, a small duffel bag in hand. His eyes darken as they take in the sight of me, hair dripping, skin flushed from the hot water, clutching the towel around me.
"You look good in my bathroom," he says, voice husky.
Heat that has nothing to do with the shower rushes through me. "I'd probably look good in all your rooms."
A slow smile spreads across his face. "We'll have to test that theory."
He sets the bag on the counter and steps closer, one hand coming up to gently touch my bruised cheek. "How's it feeling?"
"Better," I say honestly. "The pain's almost gone."
"Good." His thumb traces my bottom lip, sending a shiver down my spine. "Because when I kiss you, I don't want you thinking about anything but me."
And then his mouth is on mine, gentle at first, mindful of my injury, but quickly growing hungrier. I melt into him, my free hand clutching his shirt as his tongue slides against mine. His hands move to my waist, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Get dressed," he murmurs, eyes dark with promise. "I want to take you out."
"Out?" I blink, surprised. "Like, on a date?"
He chuckles. "Yeah, Vi. Like a date. Dinner, maybe a movie. Normal shit."
"Didn't realize 'normal shit' was on the menu with you."
His expression turns serious. "There's a lot you don't know about me yet. But I want you to." He steps back, gesturing to the bag. "Get dressed. I'll wait for you downstairs."
After he leaves, I open the bag to find a selection of women's clothing—jeans, t-shirts, underwear, even a simple black dress. All in my size. I choose the jeans and a soft green blouse, then dig out the matching underwear. Everything fits perfectly.
I dry my hair as best I can with the towel, then use Santiago's comb to detangle it. Looking in the mirror, I assess the damage—the bruise is obvious, but not as bad as it could be. I rummage through the bag again and find a small makeup kit with concealer that's miraculously close to my skin tone.
Whoever this club girl is, she's thorough, I'll give her that.
By the time I make my way downstairs, I feel almost human again. Santiago is at the bar with Cruel, both nursing beers and talking in low voices. They stop when they see me, and Santiago's eyes light up in a way that makes my heart stutter.
"Look at you," he says appreciatively, taking in my appearance. "Feel better?"
"Much. Thank whoever got these clothes for me. They're perfect."
"That would be Savannah," Cruel says with a crooked smile. "She's good at that shit."
"She's Ripper's old lady," Santiago explains. "Runs the club's legit businesses. I'll introduce you next time she's around."
"Where are you two headed?" Cruel asks, though from his smirk, I get the feeling Santiago's already told him.
"Dinner," Santiago says, standing and offering me his hand. "Get her out of this testosterone factory for a while."
I take his hand, enjoying the way his fingers lace through mine. "I don't mind the testosterone factory," I say with a smile. "Everyone's been very welcoming."
"Yeah, well, just wait until Friday when the party starts." Cruel chuckles. "Different kind of welcoming then."
Santiago gives him a warning look. "We're not discussing that right now."
Cruel holds up his hands in mock surrender. "My bad."
"Party?" I ask as Santiago leads me toward the door.
"Club thing. We can talk about it later." He grabs his leather jacket from a hook by the door and helps me into it before I can protest. "It's chilly out, and I have a feeling you're gonna end up getting cold."
