Chapter Twenty-Seven #3
Fuck.
My eyes fly open to see her hand reaching into the stall, cranking the shower cold.
“You have a really hard time remembering a bet you created,” she says innocently, wrapping a towel around herself.
I blink under the freezing water, brain refusing to accept this rejection.
Having pity on my stupor, she turns the water off and passes me a towel.
Her gaze shifts below my waist as she does.
My heart lodges in my throat. This is the first time she’s seen me fully naked when we weren’t having, or about to have, sex.
“Do you have a tattoo above your cock?” She’s studying the neatly groomed thatch of hair.
I scoff, heartbeat accelerating. “In case you missed it, I have a tattoo on my cock.” My legs are still damp, but I grab my sweatpants from the duffel anyway, tugging them on so fast I nearly fall over.
She catches the yoga pants I toss to her. “You packed me clothes too?”
“I’m a gentleman.” Relieved to be moving away from the topic of tattoos, I dangle the no-show thong I brought for her from my fingertips.
“Also, while I was packing, I couldn’t help but notice your panty drawer is 85 percent thongs.
For future reference, is that your preferred style? Not that I’m complaining.”
“While you were stealing, you mean.” Snatching them from me, she adds, “The feeling of fabric on fabric irritates me, but so does not wearing underwear.”
Making a mental note to add this to the Book of Margot, I nod.
She’s dressing now. I can’t help but admire every single inch I can see. If she wore nothing but the thong, I’d be the happiest person on the planet.
As she bends to pull on her yoga pants, her breasts sway and her stomach folds, so soft and inviting that it’s all I can do not to reach out and caress her.
Let her get dressed, for fuck’s sake. Every bit of self-control in my body is focused on my hands, freeing my mouth to blurt, “You are fucking gorgeous.”
Straightening, Margot snorts. As she tugs a bralette over her head, she says, “I’m a sure thing. No flattery required.”
“It’s not flattery if I mean it.” I pull my T-shirt on. “And I mean it.”
Squeezing her hair with the towel, she changes the subject. “Did you figure out how much paint we need so we can hit the hardware store—”
Shrill, frenzied barking interrupts her.
The towel hits the ground. Margot runs; I’m right behind her.
Weaving through the halls, we book it back to the office.
Margot’s calling out to Gremlin before we’re even in the room, soothing her.
Only running because Margot did, I don’t expect to see anything out of place.
Margot’s at Gremlin’s carrier, unzipping the mesh door and pulling her out.
The Yorkie stops barking but continues to growl, even as Margot cuddles her to her chest.
“I wonder what got her so…” Margot’s voice trails off.
The office is one of the few rooms in the haunt with a window.
It’s awkwardly high on the wall and too small for the average adult to fit through, so I’ve never thought much about it.
Now I have to, because it’s shattered. Lying among the glass shards is a brick.
I step close enough to see You know what you did has been painted onto it.
There’s a Bible verse beneath it: Genesis 9:6.
Margot’s gone sheet-ghost white, her hands trembling where she holds Gremlin. She’s swaying slightly, the same gentle rocking motion she did the morning we found the snake on the front door.
“You’re okay,” I murmur. Moving slow so she has time to stop me if she wants to, I put my arm around her. She leans into the embrace, letting out a rough exhale.
“I want you to lock yourself in the storage closet.” I keep my voice as even as possible, trying not to alarm her. “I’m going to take a look outside.” The crowbar I used in an earlier remodeling project is propped in the corner. I grab it, then Margot’s arm.
Head shaking as if she’s emerging from a trance, she moves with me then freezes.
“Like hell you’re going by yourself.” Batting me off, she heads for her purse. Grabbing her knife and stun gun, she gives me a look.
“Margot.”
“Don’t ‘Margot’ me.”
Gritting my teeth, I try not to sound like a complete jackass. “Please stay here. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”
“No. What about horror movie rules?”
“Fuck the rules.” It comes out louder than I mean it to, earning me an arched eyebrow. “Will you please just stay in here?”
Gremlin tucked under one arm, stun gun in her other hand, Margot moves to me.
Reaching me, she goes up on her tiptoes, catching me off guard.
For one glorious second, I think she’s about to kiss me.
She does, technically, but it’s on my cheek, and followed by, “I said no,” hissed in my ear. Then she’s out the door.
The urge to grab her and lock her in the closet is strong, but she’d find that unforgivable. Swiping my hand across the parking lot light switches, I curse under my breath, following her out.