“You’re such a bossy fucker,” I say before peeling my dirty top off, biting down hard on my lip with the pain the motion produces in my injured arm.
Drew cusses under his breath. “Your stitches have opened.”
My eyes follow the small trickle of blood seeping down my arm.
“I’ll live.”
My eyes catch his gaze raking over my black sports bra and my flat stomach. “My eyes are up here, Drew.”
“I’m aware.” The heat in his eyes sends my insides into a tailspin.
“I’ll run you a shower and find some clothes for you to change into,” he says, brushing past me. He takes up most of the space in the bathroom as he leans in to turn the shower on.
I strip out of the rest of my clothes, leaving my underwear and bra on as I watch him root around the small cabinet under the sink. “You have everything you need in there,” he says, stepping back out into the bedroom.
His eyes are like heat-seeking missiles blazing a trail up and down my body as he drinks me in from head to toe.
The air is super-charged, and butterflies are swooping in my chest while delicious knots of lust coil low in my belly.
“If you’re finished ogling me, I’d like to take that shower now.”
He steps wordlessly to one side so I can pass, and we both pretend I don’t see the bulge tenting his pants.
“Athena,” he says as my fingers curl around the door.
I arch a brow.
“Thank you for what you did back in Sofia.”
There is no doubting the sincerity in his tone or his expression, and it does something weird to my insides. “I’m just glad I was there.”
Our eyes meet and hold, and I have a sudden uncharacteristic urge to rush out of the bathroom and fling my arms around him.
Instead, I close the door, shed the rest of my clothing, and step in the shower.
When I exit the bathroom a while later, there are clean clothes on the bed along with a bottle of water and a plate of sliced fruit. I dry off and get dressed, folding the boxers and gray sweatpants several times around my waist so they stay up. The long-sleeved shirt is several sizes too large for me, but it’s cool against my flesh, it smells fresh, and the material is thick, so my nipples won’t go saluting anyone. I pull the socks on and forgo my boots for now. I am halfway through eating the fruit when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in.”
Drew walks into the room, carrying a first aid kit. His gaze tracks over me from my damp hair to the man’s clothing I’m wearing, and a possessive fire dances in his eyes, making me wonder if these are his clothes. He sits on the bed beside me, setting the kit down before unfurling the item in his palm. “Charlie had this in his pocket,” he says, holding the glittery pink hair tie out to me. “It’s his daughter’s. He thought you might need it.”
“That’s thoughtful.” I pluck it from his palm, and fiery little tingles brush over my skin from that fleeting contact. I lift my arms to pull my hair up, and a dart of pain shoots through my left arm. I bite down so hard on my lip I draw blood.
“Let me.” Drew’s gruff tone sends shivers tiptoeing over every inch of my flesh. A prick of blood stains the sleeve of my borrowed shirt as I lower my arms and admit defeat. “I, ah, should probably tend to your arm first,” he says, gluing his eyes to the widening bloodstain on the shirt.
“I’ve got it.”
His eyes pierce mine, calling me out on the lie. I’m suddenly conscious of how close we are and noticing he’s freshly showered too. He had cleaned his face when we first got on board and attempted to fix his bloody nose, but his hair is damp, and his black cargo pants and black short-sleeved T-shirt are new, and I’m guessing there is a second shower somewhere else on this plane. It’s a lot bigger than most private planes, but there are twenty people on board, so it’s necessary.
“Let me help.” His fingers dance lightly across my face, and I’m in so much trouble with this man. My eyes drop to his tempting mouth, and I would love nothing more than to lose myself in him. Drew Manning in a suit is a sight to behold, but this more casual version heats my blood to the boiling point. Somehow, he seems morehim. Like I’m seeing a side of him he doesn’t show to many, and there is nothing more attractive to me. He’s so gorgeous, and I bet every naked inch of him is equally beautiful and sexy. It’s a long flight back to the US, and sex would be a perfect distraction.
Without saying a word, I move to pull my top off, but Drew takes over, slowly and carefully peeling the shirt away until I’m sitting bare-chested before him. To give him credit, he doesn’t look at my breasts or the hard nipples waving hello, gently taking my arm and inspecting the injury with a frown.
“I’m sorry,” he says, shocking me. I don’t think a man like Drew Manning apologizes very often.
“For what?”
He opens the medical kit and removes a small vial of rubbing alcohol, some gauze, and paper stitches.
“For injuring you and for locking you in the trunk.”
