Page 53 of Ricochet

The plan had been simple—slip in, check her dress size, then slip out, and I set out to do just that. The darkness of the room came as a surprise, but in some ways, I understood why. I’d always felt at ease in the dark, too.

Slipping through a narrow crack, I closed the door behind me, hoping the light from the window kept her from noticing the momentary brightness.

I’d been a prick for earlier and wanted to do something nice, but there I stood, holding her dress while staring at her perfect curves through the obscure glass.

What’d happened to all the hate and disgust the woman incited? Since when did the sight of her suddenly have my body hardening, heat pumping through my veins while blood shot straight to my dick?

Somewhere in the blur of her body, the word WHORE was eternally etched in her skin. It’d made me see her differently, because the scar on her back was no different from the one on my head. Inflicted by the same man, fueled with the same hate.

Her soft moans carried across the room, and I froze, riveted, as her hands caressed her body through the moonbeams filtering in. Her hands smoothed over her arms, her breasts, her legs. The dips and peaks bowed and arced in perfect proportions, from her large, rounded breasts, her tiny waist and tight, curvy ass. When she arched back into the spray of the water, the first pull of desire tugged at my dick.

Keep away from her, Alec’s voice chimed inside my mind, only that time it sounded more like a plea than a warning.

I couldn’t argue against it. Following my desires in the past, with other women, hadn’t ended well, and the last thing she needed was to suffer whatever messed up shit happened when the lights went out inside my head.

But fuck, that body of hers called out to me like a siren. I felt like a rotten bastard for what I wanted to do to it. How badly I needed to watch her writhe with the pleasure of being defiled by my cock, while her screams reverberated inside the small shower stall.

Leave. Now.

Dropping the dress back to the floor, I backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and texted her size to Lauren.

A half hour passed before Aubree emerged, swimming in my T-shirt and sweatpants, with long, wet locks of hair falling around her shoulders. Fuck. Me.

The familiar scent of my shampoo and soap permeated throughout the room, but mingled with her own natural smell and made for an intoxicating aroma that had my mouth watering and my predator alarms going off like a wolverine about to tear into an innocent rabbit.

She seemed uncomfortable in my clothes and fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “I didn’t want to go through your things, but I didn’t see a brush … or anything.” Her voice had suddenly become more timid than before. Shy.

I pushed off the bed, slid past her, and grabbed the comb from the top drawer of the sink, holding it outright as I returned to her. “This work?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She nabbed the comb, and when her soft finger grazed mine, I dropped it. As we both crouched to pick it up, I gripped her shoulder to keep from knocking heads, and my finger brushed the smoothness of her throat. My muscles stiffened, and I rubbed my thumb back and forth against that same spot, staring at her.

“You don’t have to wear my clothes if you don’t want to.”

“I do.” She hardly lifted her gaze, staring somewhere in the neighborhood of my chest. “I like wearing them.”

“You look uncomfortable.”

“It’s not the clothes making me uncomfortable, Nick. When you … look at me the way you’re looking at me right now … you’re … making me nervous. I don’t know if you’re ready to strangle me, or—”

I quickly gripped her arms and lifted her to her feet, taking in the feel of her skin against my fingertips. Warm silk glided beneath my thumb as I stole the opportunity to touch her, really touch her, every ridge, every goose bump that puckered under my caress. “It’s been three years since I’ve touched someone. I don’t want to give you pain with these hands. I just want to feel.” I pushed a strand of wet hair away from her face and dragged my finger down her cheek. “You’re so beautiful,” I whispered.

With some hesitation, I leaned toward her, eyes studying hers for the first twinge of resistance.

I parted her lips with mine, more gentle than our first encounter, and simply explored her mouth. Warmth feathered my cheek as our exhales mingled in the tiny space that separated us, and I pressed my lips against hers in a kiss so deep, so penetrating, each moan left me one fine thread from losing control.

As I pulled back, a tear fell down her cheek, and the bastard inside of me surfaced once again when I released her and stepped back. “Why are you crying?”

She shook her head. “I’m not going to let you break me, Nick. Not with your kiss. Not with your touch. Too long, I’ve survived, to let you tear down my guard. I’ll survive you, too.” Her sad eyes stared up at me, before she turned and exited my room, Blue trotting behind her.

I couldn’t blame her. It’d been stupid of me to toy with something I had no intentions of pursuing. I had a job to finish, and Aubree was a means to that end. With a few smart moves, I’d own Michael Culling, would have him groveling on his hands and knees like a little bitch, begging me for mercy. That was the ultimate goal, and I didn’t need the distraction along the way. In between, my goal would be to keep myself occupied. Find something to occupy her.

Even if her touch had rattled something inside of me—confirmed with a downward glance.

Much as I’d have tried to deny it, I liked seeing her in my clothes.

Too much. I slipped inside the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and like some kind of perverted fucking hound dog, I inhaled her scent.

I had to get it out of my system. Had to get her out of my head, and banging a prostitute didn’t seem to be an option for me.