“God, just smite me down, right here and now,” I hear her mumble, embarrassed as fuck and turning a funny shade of pink, the blush spreading all the way down her neck. She drops her forehead back to her knee, whimpering again.
Snickering and deciding to give her some kind of mercy, I turn my head to the guys and tell them, “Go fix up the shit in the hallway and living room while I try to get her out of the tub.”
They’re all still laughing, but they do as they’re told, leaving me and the slippery girl alone in the bathroom. I then look back down at her and quietly instruct, “Wrap your arms around me and I’ll pull you out.”
“I only have one arm free. The other is stuck between my tits and my legs,” she pitifully grumbles, more annoyed at herself and the situation, I hope, than me.
Another grin tugs at my lips and I shake my head, bending low enough for her to wrap a slim arm around my neck, her greasy hand gripping my shirt with a vise-like hold. I slide one arm under her knees, squeezing tight enough that she doesn’t slide right out of my hold. Using her shirt for tractionwith my other arm, I hug her tightly and pull her body from the tub, placing her on her feet the moment she’s free.
“Thanks,” she breathes, her face contorting in pain while she keeps her legs spread awkwardly. I gesture at her legs, ignoring her naked lower half even though it takes a whole fucking lot to do so, and am about to ask her what’s wrong when she says, “Fire crotch. Though not of the STI variety. It was the lube, and I need to wash it off before the polar bears get loose.”
My mouth opens. And then it closes, right before opening again. And closing again. I… don’t have the words. The only thing I can manage to ask is, “Polar bears?”
With a defeated sigh, the woman grumbles, “Long story. I’ll explain when my vagina is no longer suffering through a blizzard. It’s the least I can offer after all of this. I’m going to fucking kill them all.”
The… the polar bears? What do you even say to that? She might be a bit crazy, her eyes narrowing dangerously when they grow a little distant. I don’t want to think she might be plotting murder, but she very well could be. Whoever they are, and I’m hoping it’s not the polar bears, should probably go into hiding for a few years.
Instead of replying, I look around and find a closet, pulling out two towels. I place one at the base of the tub, knowing she’ll only end up in the same situation as before if she tries to step back in there with lube-covered feet. I place the other on the heated towel rack, shaking my head at the fancy shit she has in this place. Like the waterfall shower hanging from the ceiling. Clearly, she’s not hard up for money if she can afford the top-floor apartment and has all the high-end gadgets and gizmos to go with it.
Shaking my head, I fumble around with the settings to turn the shower on before holding my hand out for her to take. She eyes it closely before snorting at herself and accepting myhand. Carefully, I help her back into the tub, letting go of her hand when she’s standing upright and in no danger of falling on her ass. She doesn’t seem bothered that she’s practically naked, likely already mortified enough that she just doesn’t give a shit, so I pause and ask, “Got everything you need?”
With a long-suffering sigh, she asks, “Could you open the mirror and get my body wash and shampoo, please? It’s going to take the whole bottle to get this crap off me.”
“Sure,” I say, biting my smile as I find the stuff she needs before placing it on the edge of the tub for her.
“Thank you…” she says, looking at me with both embarrassment and gratitude. Water is pouring over her, making her already see-through shirt completely useless, and it takes all the strength in me not to look directly at the perky tits that are completely visible now. I’m not going to be that guy.
Instead, I hold my hand out for her to shake now that it’s not as gross and greasy, and offer my name. “Rayne Hunter. And you’re welcome… I think.”
She snorts again, shaking my hand while she says, “Madison Fowler. Nice to meet you… kind of.”
She laughs, a fucking adorable thing that I would have appreciated more had I not suddenly frozen with her hand still in mine. Her name… that sounds way too familiar. Madison Fowler. Who is that? Where do I know that name from? Madison…
Oh, fucking hell.
The light bulb goes off in my head and I have to work a whole lot harder to keep from smiling like an idiot.
Madison Fowler. World-renowned photographer and entrepreneur.
Guess that explains a few things. This shit just got a whole lot more interesting.
Chapter Four
Ryan
The glass is cleared away, the beautiful photos are stacked on the marble counter in the kitchen, and the mess that we figured was strawberries, cream, and noodles has been wiped away. The trash can is fuller than it was before we arrived, but at least the place looks a whole lot cleaner than before. The urge to know what the hell actually happened is gnawing relentlessly at me, my curiosity piqued more than it ever has been.
I’m browsing through the photography magazines on the woman’s coffee table, studiously ignoring the bottle of lube stationed right in the middle of the vintage-looking furniture, when Rayne comes strolling down the hallway with a grin so wide it catches me off guard for a moment. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man smile that big in all the years I’ve known him. I’ll be damned if that’s not enough to drive my interest and intrigue up a few notches more.
“She’s fine, not hurt. Dignity is shattered and she’s embarrassed as hell, so maybe go easy on her when she comes back out,” Rayne comments, tugging his hat off to run his hands through his short hair, putting it back with a barely-there snicker. An honest-to-God snicker. Who is this man and what has he done with the ever-silent and grumpy Rayne I’ve known for the last ten years?
“Bro, did you just laugh?” Caiden blurts, as shocked as the rest of us. Sure enough, the dick is staring at Rayne like he’s sprouted a penis for a nose, and I can’t help but snort. He’s sitting at the island with a glass of juice in front of him, arms crossed on the counter like this is his morning routine. Baxter is watching him from the corner of his eye with an almost-there smile while he expertly flips a pancake over at the stove. Apparently, we’ve all decided to make ourselves at home. I mean, it’s not like we’re going anywhere until we hear the story behind our introduction to our neighbor.
Deciding to take a page from their book, I drop down onto the couch and pick up the remote, turning the volume up on the TV show. Rayne comes over and drops down beside me, crossing his arms over his now-stained shirt while he silently watchesGame of Throneswith me. It’s not like we haven’t watched it all before, but you can never go wrong with rewatching some dragons burn shit to ashes.
A little while later, I finally speak up. “I wonder how much this place costs to rent. This woman has to be loaded if she’s living here alone.”
“You’d be right. But I don’t pay rent… I own the building,” a gentle feminine rasp sounds from the hallway entrance.
