Chapter 9 #2
They reached the top of the stairs and he hit the light in what appeared to be the main bedroom. She spotted a king-sized bed before he steered them into the attached bathroom. Kicking the door shut, he sat her on the counter.
Chilly, unamused gray eyes landed on hers as he braced his hands on either side of her.
She shrunk under his gaze, her shoulders shivering aggressively.
“You nearly got yourself killed.”
“Isn’t that the whole point?” she spat.
He scoffed, shaking his head and dropping it down. After a beat, he lifted his gaze to hers and his mouth twisted into a wry smile. Butterflies danced in her stomach.
“You’re doing a good enough job of that yourself.” He straightened and grasped one of her feet. “Let’s see if you have any toes left.”
He peeled the sock down her leg and off her foot, which was red and throbbing. He turned it over in his hands then covered it with his palms. Heat enveloped her skin and she moaned—like actually moaned.
He glanced up at her, one eyebrow hooked.
“You’re warm,” she whispered meekly.
He lowered her leg and picked up her other. “And you’re lucky you don’t have frostbite.”
His hands enveloped her other foot and she shuddered in his hold. He was so close, so invasive. The small bathroom forced him into her personal space. The weird thing was she didn’t mind.
Probably because the guy was like a furnace.
He dropped her as quickly as he’d grabbed her and reached into the shower, flicking the handle. Spray erupted from the showerhead. He held his hand under the mist then reached behind his neck, grabbed a fistful of his muscle shirt, and slid the material over his head.
Mila’s mouth went dry. She looked at the bathroom door. Should she leave? Did he expect her to hop down and just sit in his cabin waiting for him to get out of the shower?
Leaving seemed the logical thing to do.
He hooked his hands into his sweats and shoved them down his legs.
“Umm—”
He caught her arm before she could sprint from the bathroom.
“Easy.” A scowl carved his brow but he said nothing else as he snagged the lapels of the flannel and peeled it off her shoulders.
She wore only the black sports bra and shorts, both pasted to her like a second skin.
The air danced over her flesh, drawing her nipples into nubs.
His eyes slinked over her body, his mouth tense. Her pulse quickened at having him so close and every curve of her body on display. Sliding his hands around her waist, he lifted her from the counter to stand inside the tub.
The warm spray hit her body. She sucked in a sharp breath as the droplets pummeled her skin. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she grabbed the wall before her knees buckled.
He was behind her, one hand on her hip, the other on her bicep. “You good, Anna?” His voice was close to her ear, as smooth as brandy and just as intoxicating.
“Yes,” she managed to say. The word came out strangled.
He must not have believed her because he didn’t drop his hands. Allowing him to hold her so she didn’t crumple, she cupped her palms beneath the spray. Every inch of her skin puckered painfully. The sharp sting of hot water against cold skin was unforgiving.
But she’d rather die than step out.
“Go ahead and use the soap.” He paused then added gruffly, “Wash your hair, too.”
She dipped her head so the spray coated her scalp. “Why are you still calling me that?”
“Hmm?” He sounded tense. Distracted.
“Anna. That’s not my name.”
He chortled. She wanted to turn around and face him, but she didn’t dare risk him dropping his hands.
“You were telling the truth about the name Mila?”
“Yes.” Her voice shook as a shiver ran through her. She’d probably never get warm. Well, if he kept touching her, she might.
He didn’t say anything.
She poured shampoo from the bottle in the shower caddy into her palm. The woodsy scent of pine filled the mist and relaxed her muscles. “What should I call you?”
“You’ve called me a lot of names.”
That made her glance over her shoulder, her hands wrapped around her sudsy head. “Oh, please. I think I had good reason.”
“Maybe,” he conceded, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Asshole or not, I saved your life twice.”
She couldn’t stop the laugh that came out—indignant, but also laced with genuine humor. “For your own benefit.”
“And you tried to kill me for yours.”
Sighing, she turned to rinse her hair. Once the shampoo was gone, she wiped the lingering bubbles from her face. She was showering with the man she’d been hired to kill. The ridiculousness wasn’t lost on her. “We’re all out for ourselves. Survival of the fittest.”
He spun her around to face him. Dark-gray eyes flitted over her face. Small droplets of water speckled his chest and neck. He was so much taller than her. Huge, actually.
She was strong and fast, but if he wanted, he could crush her with his bare hands.
“Don’t do it again,” he growled. His fingers dug into her hips, but not to the point it hurt.
“Is that a threat?”
“Damn right. You run again, I’m going to slap your ass when I find you.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You so much as—”
“Give me a reason, Mila. Please.”
She bit her bottom lip. His threat hadn’t sparked fear. Instead, need swirled low in her belly. Lord, she had issues if this dominating macho prick was making her wet. “Tell me your name, then.”
He blinked. Some of the heat left his eyes. “Ghost.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“What?” he asked, grabbing a handful of water over her head and splashing his face.
“Well, you gave me shit about having a fake name. What the hell is Ghost?”
He shook the water from his fingers and brought his grip back to her shorts. “It’s what my friends call me.”
“We’re not friends.”
“Damn right.”
With that, he grabbed the bar of soap from the ledge, rubbed it between his palms, and skimmed his hands over his shoulders and arms. “You done in here?”
No. Not even close. She wanted to watch him wash himself, but she wasn’t that unhinged. Yet. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Stand behind me.” Guiding her between the wall and him, he switched places with her. Turning his back to the spray and shielding her, he reached outside of the shower curtain and grabbed a fluffy black towel from a tall, narrow rack nearby.
After shaking it loose, he wrapped the terry cloth around her shoulders, then grabbed her arms and lifted her over the edge of the tub. She squeaked with surprise, but he planted her safely on the bathroom floor.
“Sit over there,” he ordered. “I want my eyes on you.”
She sat on the toilet lid and pulled the towel tightly around her.
He snapped the shower curtain shut and a minute later, wet black boxers landed on the floor with a thwack .
Heat slammed against her cheeks. Her breath left her lungs as quickly as it had when she’d fallen into the river.
“There’s an unopened toothbrush in the drawer next to you. Go ahead and use it.” His words came out clipped. Did the guy ever not sound pissed off or was it her? Probably her considering the headache she’d caused.
In the drawer, she found a pile of packaged toothbrushes and tore one open. She stood and found the toothpaste resting on the counter.
Her body wavered. Being in a steamy bathroom after the events of the day was making her woozy. All she wanted to do was sleep.
She cleaned her teeth with great care—she hadn’t brushed since yesterday. Gross. If her running off didn’t keep him at arm’s length, her breath would.
The water shut off and a tingle raced up her spine. Ghost’s long, brawny arm stuck out from the side of the curtain, and he pulled a towel into the shower.
A second later he stepped out with the material knotted at his waist. She inched closer to the toilet as he moved in front of the sink. His body took up almost as much space as his personality.
She continued to brush her teeth only because she didn’t want to get close to him again. The clean, fragrant scent of soap hung in the air, mingling with the minty taste in her mouth.
He looked at her as he retrieved a new toothbrush for himself and squirted the bristles with paste. His gaze raked over her body, dropping down to her toes and climbing all the way up, stopping briefly at her thighs and then her breasts before meeting her gaze.
He said nothing.
The foam in her mouth threatened to leak out the sides. She either had to swallow the stuff or get close to him to spit. She opted for the latter. With her luck, she’d throw up bubbles in his sink if she swallowed.
Moving forward brought her scant inches from his body. She held her hair with her free hand and leaned over the sink. Her arm brushed his but he didn’t move. Electricity shot down to her toes and arced dangerously in her loins.
She rinsed her mouth and backed away. “Am I allowed to sleep?” she asked, summoning her voice.
He raised an eyebrow, finished brushing, then wiped his mouth on a hand towel. “If you think I’m leaving you alone you’re dead wrong.”
Apprehension hit her chest like a cannonball. “What do you mean?”
He exhaled through his nose and faced her. “How’re your feet?”
Tingly. Painful. But she didn’t tell him that. “Fine.”
“We need to patch up your head.”
As if they had a mind of their own, her fingers brushed the wound. “It’s okay.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Sure enough, blood dotted her fingertips. Not a lot, but enough that if she didn’t bandage the wound, blood would probably get everywhere.
He opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out a red case. “Sit.”
She wrinkled her nose and lowered her butt to the toilet seat. “Are you always so bossy?”
“Only to people who don’t fucking listen.”
If she’d had her wits about her, she’d have replied with something sassy, but she couldn’t think with the rippled surface of his abs so close.
Only masculine muscle filled her vision, bringing the woozy feeling right back to her head. But this time, her sex twitched with interest. His long fingers expertly rifled through the contents of the first aid kit.
And all she wanted was for those fingers to work just as expertly over her body.
For god’s sake. She was in trouble.