BRODIE
“COME WITH ME.” I voiced the command with ease, recognizing that Emery found it easier to respond when she felt she didn’t have a choice. It would be a denial of everything she valued, in a sense, to be here of her own will. I had already learned that she was too independent to submit freely to another’s authority. How she had made it four years in the army, I’d never know.
She eyed me suspiciously over the top of the book she was reading. “And do what?”
“I need to shower and I want you close.”
She shook her head firmly. “No. I’m fine right here. Go about your business.”
“Emery, I’m not asking.” Her eyes remained stubbornly on the book, but there was a faint quiver in her bottom lip, one she reined in by rolling it under her upper lip and biting. I softened my tone. “Bring your book. You know I have no intention of harming you.” Not now, at any rate. The future stretched ahead, dark and murky. I didn’t know what would happen three days from now. Or a week.
I didn’t think I’d be killing her, though, and I needed to figure out what I was going to do about that. Already I found myself enjoying her spirit, and wanting to slay whatever dragon was making that lip quiver with remembered fear.
The asshole part of me just wanted to watch her squirm.
Reluctance plain in every line of her body, she stood and followed me into the bathroom. I closed the toilet lid and pointed. “Sit there.” I waited until she sat, then turned and reached into the glass-enclosed shower to turn on the water. Closing the door while it warmed, I reached a hand to the back of my neck and tugged my shirt over my head.
Emery crossed her legs and stared hard at the book in her hand. “Is this completely necessary?” She snapped.
My hand went to the button on my jeans and I undid it, shoving the pants over my hips and to the floor. “You’re the one who ran away, with no shoes, into a foot of snow,” I pointed out. “You tell me whether I can trust you not to run if I leave you alone.”
No reply. My boxer briefs were my last item of clothing. I shucked them, laughing a little at the sound of her gasp, before I turned to test the water and step into the shower.
With the drive up here and the necessity for constant monitoring of my unwilling captive, I hadn’t showered in close to two days. I reveled now in the stream of hot water beating down, the cloud of steam rising around me. I couldn’t see her clearly enough, though, through the fogging shower glass.
“Where did the name Cotton come from?” I asked. I’d make her talk to me; that way I could hear if she tried anything dumb.
She shifted on the toilet seat, her form moving and then settling. “It’s just what my friends have always called me. When I was little my hair was even paler than it is now, and curly. It used to puff out around my head in this cloud, and somebody started calling me Cottonball. It just stuck.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her tone was sharp, insulted.
“What was what?” I squirted soap in my palm and began washing myself, starting with my chest and working my way down.
“That hmm noise you just made.”
“Oh. I was just thinking that it didn’t suit.” It didn’t suit her. She was small and sprightly, albeit toned and undoubtedly strong. She was fierce and female all at once, not at all like a wispy puff of cotton. Not in my opinion, anyway.
“You don’t even know me, Brodie.”
“I know you well enough to know that you’re not a textile. Or one of those stick things you clean your ears with.”
She snorted and I found myself smiling. “A Q-tip? No, I guess not. But I prefer Cotton to Emery. Only my parents call me that, and we don’t get along very well.”
“I may have noticed that at the Bourbon. Why is that?” Seconds ticked by without a response.
“What’s that tattoo on your chest?” she finally asked.
I paused in lathering my hair.Note to self: does not like talking about family.I let it pass for the moment, resolving to dig back into it at a more opportune time. “Noticed that, didja?”
“You flexed your chest muscle, Brodie. How was I not supposed to notice?” Her tone was wry and I cleared a little circle on the shower door so I could see her. Her lips were crooked in a little smile.
“That was a reaction to you looking,” I answered, enjoying teasing her. My palm curled around my dick, half-hard with the knowledge she was just a few feet away from my nakedness, and I let out a silent breath as I tightened my grip, imagining it was her small hand.
“Whatever. So what is it?”
Hard. Really fucking hard.I swept my hand from root to tip with painful slowness. If she knew what I was doing…I was such a fuck—
