He goes completely still.
Slowly, very carefully, he peels the black lace panties from the middle of the pile like he’s diffusing a bomb.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses.
I give him my sweetest smile. “Maybe a little.”
He walks over and holds them out. Then jerks them back before I can take them.
“Hm.” His eyes meet mine. “Maybe I should hold these hostage since you’re being bratty.”
I gasp. “I amnotbratty.”
His lips twitch. “You are.”
He holds up the black lace panties by one delicate edge. “You want these?”
“No. You can put them in the drawer.”
He stares at me for a minute before he shoves them in his pocket.
My eyes fly wide. “What are you doing?”
“Playing your game.”
I glare at him. “Not a wise choice. I don’t like to lose.”
Daltyn leans over me, so close that his breath feathers over my skin. “Neither do I, sweetheart. But if you don’t believe me, check out my stats.”
Then he shuts the dresser drawer and opens my carry-on.
“Just tell me where you want this stuff. The bathroom is right across the hall.”
“Does this mean?—”
“No. I’m carrying you there.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Anything else you need in here?”
“Just my shoes.”
He digs through the bag. “You only have flip flops.”
“Isn’t that better than heels?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he grabs my non-injured foot and squats down.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking this other death trap off in case you somehow get to your feet before I can stop you.”
“It’s not a deathtrap.”
“Wouldn’t want you hurting the other ankle.” He removes my heeled sandal, then looks up at me. “Or bust your ass.”
