Chapter 15 Ava
Ava
“Holy… fuck.” That’s all I manage to say.
I’ve just walked in on a half-naked man.
Correction.
I’ve walked in on a half-naked deity carved by the thirst gods themselves. And even though his back is to me, the man is ripped from stem to stern.
Broad shoulders.
Muscular back.
Tight waist.
Tattoos licking up one side of his ribs…
And an ass so tight you could bounce a quarter off it and watch it land on the moon.
He starts a slow, delicious turn.
And then I see his face.
My mouth falls open.
Oh. Shit.
It’s the guy from the airport.
The same guy now standing ten feet away, wearing nothing but panty-melting scruff and black boxer briefs.
Boxer briefs that are very clearly at full staff. And Lord help me, it might be the biggest one I’ve ever seen. I physically cannot look away.
It’s like he’s holding me at gunpoint.
With a rocket launcher.
He crosses his arms, totally unbothered. “Hello, Pix.”
Damn. His voice is low and rough and does unspeakable things to my lady parts.
“H-Hi,” I manage, still staring at his crotch.
I blink hard and finally drag my gaze up to his face.
He arches a brow, clearly enjoying the fact that I’ve short-circuited. “Do you need something?”
Do I ever.
His eyes dip to my dress and drag back up again, slow enough to fry every last brain cell. Then those piercing blue eyes settle on mine.
Waiting.
Expectant.
For an answer, Ava.
I swallow. “I… uh… was just looking for—”
Your cock.
My dignity.
Literally any word that isn’t hi, Daddy.
Three sharp knocks pound on the door, shattering the moment. “I know you’re in there!”
My eyes fly wide. Shit.
And just like that, whatever spell we were under snaps and falls away.
I spin and lock the door just as the handle rattles. “Open up!” my idiot ex-fiancé barks, beating on it like a spoiled toddler denied a toy.
God. He’s going to make a scene.
Which is painfully so on brand for the attention whore.
Hot, naked guy’s amusement fades. Irritation flickers across his face, subtle but impossible to miss.
“Who’s that?” he asks.
His voice is controlled and detached in a way that makes my stomach drop.
“It’s… a long story.”
He doesn’t push.
Instead, he reaches into a garment bag and pulls out a pair of trousers. He steps into them with calm, efficient movements that make me even more unhinged.
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
His jaw ticks. “Husband?”
“Not in this lifetime.” No matter how desperately my publicist begs. “I promise you, I’m not with him.”
He looks two seconds from throwing me out the door.
I lower my voice, heat creeping up my neck. “I just need…” His brow quirks with interest. I swallow it back. “A place to hide.”
Another knock. Louder this time. Embarrassingly so.
“I saw you go in there, mi amor,” the idiot coos impatiently.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“So,” Lumberjack says, all traces of amusement gone. “You’re his love.”
Steam practically rolls off every tight, infuriatingly delicious inch of him.
He fastens the top button of his pants with deliberate slowness, like he’s personally punishing me.
Rude.
His chin jerks toward the door. “Open it, Pix.”
“Can you stop calling me that?”
A beat.
“Either you open the door,” he says calmly, “or I will.”
“Please.” I clasp my hands together like I’m praying to the muscle gods. “Do not give me up. I will do anything,” I whisper.
He hesitates for maybe half a second.
Then he crosses the room.
Two long strides and he’s towering over me, all combustible heat and unapologetic male dominance. My pulse breaks into a drum solo.
“Anything?” His tone makes my stomach flip. Devil’s bargains usually do.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Within reason.”
He plants a hand above the doorframe, caging me without touching me.
Yet somehow, I feel him everywhere.
Another bang rattles the door.
“He’s pretty adamant,” Lumberjack growls. “Tell me, Pix. How do I know you’re not actually with this douchebag?”
His eyes lock on mine, and I’m suddenly aware I’m standing in front of what feels like a human lie detector.
With my pride already on life support, I’ve got nothing left to lose. I suck in a breath and reach for the nuclear option.
The truth.
“Because I haven’t had sex in over a year.”
Closer to two. Not that I’m saying that out loud.
His brows shoot up. And those glacial blue eyes darken, storm-gray replacing ice. “Is that so?”
Kill. Me. Now.
Before I can officially die of humiliation, he steps back, his face carefully blank.
Then he gestures for me to move aside so he can open the door.
Panicked, I whisper, “What are you doing?”
“What I apparently always do when you’re around, Pix.” His big hand settles at my waist, already moving me aside. “Rescuing you. But you owe me. And I will collect.” Then, he adds, “Tonight.”
My panties melt a little as he reaches for the knob.
I grab his tree-trunk arm. It does not budge. At all. “You can’t do that. You’re half naked.”
“If he isn’t your man,” he says smoothly, “what’s the problem?”
Point taken.
I do not bother explaining that if dip-dork catches me cornered with a six-foot-four lumberjack, the fallout will be apocalyptic. Worst case, he snaps a photo and hands it straight to the paparazzi. Boom. Mach-ten shitshow.
Not even a top-tier social media wet team could contain that mess.
“Because it is,” I say tightly.
He reaches for the door again.
I block him with my body.
“At least,” I rasp, desperation bleeding through, “zip up.”
He smirks as he does.
Helpless, I step back and watch in pure horror as he opens the door.