Expensive.
Another reminder that I don’t belong here.
I vaguely dry myself, water dripping from my hair onto the tiles. Fuck it. Not my problem.
I snatch D’s shirt from the hook. It’s soft. Smells like him. I pull it over my head, drowning in the fabric.
Then it hits me. A smell. Not D’s cologne. Food?
What the fuck?
I creep downstairs, bare feet silent on the hardwood. The smell gets stronger. Savory. Rich. My stomach growls, the traitor.
I freeze and nearly choke on my own spit.
There’s D, half-naked, in the kitchen. The sun streams through the kitchen window, bathing him in golden light. It’s the first time I’ve seen him this exposed in daylight, with just a pair of boxers hugging his ass.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He’s facing away from me, giving me a full view of his back. It’s a goddamn work of art. Muscles ripple under tanned skin as he moves, a canvas of tattoos and scars telling stories I’m not sure I want to know.
My eyes trace the lines of a massive dragon curling around his shoulder blade. It’s breathtaking. Terrifying. Just like him.
I’m glued to the spot. Watching… the hottest man I’ve ever seen striding across the kitchen.
My jaw drops. Holy fuck.
As he turns to grab some chopped-up mushrooms from the counter, I catch sight of a long gash across his ribs, a puckered burn on his left shoulder. There’s history there, written in scar tissue and pain. I recognize that kind of pain. I’ve got my own scars hidden beneath the surface.
He looks up, sensing my presence. For a split second, his face softens, something raw and unguarded flashing in his eyes. It’s gone so fast that I almost think I imagined it.
His icy blue eyes turn into a storm of lust, the pupils darkening to black, his gaze trailing over my damp hair and bare legs. “I was beginning to think you’d drowned in there.”
I steel myself, my jaw clenching as I ignore the desire burning in his eyes. With an eyebrow arch, I lean against the banister. “Worried about me, big guy? That’s cute.”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “Just my water bill,krasotka.”
His voice is gravel and whiskey. It does things to me. Things I don’t want to admit.
Ignore it,I think.Ignore the fact that your greedy little cunt is aching to taste him again.But my heart is hammering against my rib cage.
Two more steps. I can do two more steps. I’ve faced down death, for fuck’s sake. I can handle this.
Slowly, deliberately, I put one foot in front of the other. My gaze stays fixed on the floor, refusing to let his eyes pin me down like prey.
Finally, I reach the bottom of the stairs. And shit, I’m staring at his chest like a damn deer in the headlights.
Fuck that.
I tear my gaze away, trying to look casual. But fuck, his eyes are piercing into me like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind. I can’t let him win.
“Put it on my tab,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes and leveling my gaze on his face. “Right next to ‘life-threatening situations’ and ‘questionable life choices.’”
He laughs, deep and rich. The sound does things to me I’d rather not admit. Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his eyes, softening that hard-as-nails exterior for just a moment. Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he laughs.
It hits me then how much older he is. Ten years at least, maybe more. Not that I give a shit about age, but it’s there in the lines on his face, the weight of experience in his eyes. He’s seen some serious shit, that’s for damn sure.
But those eyes, they’re looking at me like I’m some kind of puzzle he can’t quite figure out. Like he’s trying to see past all my bullshit. It’s unnerving as hell.
