Chapter 4 #3
That shuts me up, because his words instantly trigger a mental image of him naked on top of me, my nails raking down his back. Damn him. He brings out the worst in me, in every possible way.
“Fine,” I tell him before I can change my mind.
Then I unzip my jeans and pull them down my hips, taking my panties with them. In another second, I whip my tee over my head and toss it to the floor. Holding his stare, I reach behind me, unhook my bra, and drop it.
“There,” I say, standing naked in front of him. “Happy now?”
His eyes flick down over me, but his face remains an expressionless mask of indifference. “Give me your wrist.”
With an exasperated sigh, I hold out my right hand.
He closes the cuff on it and then quickly snaps the other on his own wrist. He undoes the button at his wrist and rolls up his sleeve while I watch, trying not to notice the way Andriani gives a whole new meaning to the term forearm porn.
And acting like I’m not standing in the chill air, completely naked.
“Get in,” he orders me. “Don’t take too long, and don’t try anything stupid.”
With that, he rests his uncuffed hand on the pistol at his side. The sooner I can shower and get back into clothing—even dirty clothing—the better. I swallow my pride and comply, moving into the narrow fiberglass shower.
It’s not going to be easy washing with one hand that’s not my dominant, but I don’t really care at the moment.
I crank on the shower and water emerges with less pressure and a bit cooler than I’d like, but it’s not brown.
Thank heavens for small mercies. The only soap in here is men’s shower gel and shampoo, so I make use of it, trying not to notice that it smells like him.
He doesn’t utter a word as I wash as quickly as I can.
I wonder how long the hot water will last. Can I just stay in here for the rest of the day and never come out? Not likely. But facing him again, while I’m naked and soaked, isn’t exactly what I’m dying to do.
“You’re taking too long, Sidorova,” he warns me from the other side of the shower curtain, as if he’s reading my thoughts.
I glare at the curtain. “It’s difficult to shower with only one hand.”
“Need help?”
Unwanted heat snakes through me at the thought of Andriani’s tattooed hands on me, washing me.
“Not a chance,” I bite out.
“One more minute and I’m turning off the water. I don’t give a shit if you’re covered in suds.”
What a gentleman.
I linger for another few seconds before giving in and turning off the water. Then I peek around the curtain, shielding myself from him.
He’s closer than I anticipated, standing right on the other side of the shower curtain, his eyes searing into me. He’s terrifying and handsome, and my heart pounds hard and fast, lust that I shouldn’t feel burning to life like a tiny spark ready to ignite a wildfire.
“Can I get a towel?” I ask him, ignoring everything else.
“On the counter.” He gestures behind him with his head, eyes still locked on me.
He expects me to get it myself, apparently. I look at the towel, then back at him, wondering if I can wrap enough of the old shower curtain and liner around myself. Like a mildew-stained toga.
Fuck my life.
“I’ve already seen it,” he announces, sounding bored as he uses the barrel of his Glock to nudge the shower curtain back over my head. “Hurry up. You’re wasting my time.”
“You have somewhere better to be?” I retort, annoyed that I’m so potently aware of him while he’s totally unaffected.
Cold as an ice cube.
“Actually, I do.” With one harsh motion, he rips at the curtain.
I’m still holding on for dear life, which results in a few of the cheap plastic shower rings popping open, the curtain and liner giving way.
He hisses with annoyance and tugs on my cuffed wrist. “Out. Now.”
The motion catches me off guard, and I lose my balance. One second, I’m standing in the shower, and the next, I’m catching my foot on the low lip and falling forward. Scorpion catches me with one arm, pulling me into his chest.
I stare up at him, and I swear I see a flash of something in his eyes before he extinguishes it and the mask is back in place.
I’m clutching his shoulder with my free hand, soaking his white shirt, my breasts pressed into him, heart beating even faster than before.
The cold metal of his gun glances off my bare back as he shifts me away from him.
“Next time, warn me before you yank me out of the shower,” I tell him, feeling irritated and hyperaware of him at the same time.
“There won’t be a next time.” With a fluid motion that tells me exactly how familiar he is with carrying around a piece, he tucks away his Glock and extracts the key.
He jams it into the lock like he can’t wait to be rid of me, and then the cuff clicks open.
In a blink, he’s gone, striding out of the bathroom and leaving me standing there, naked and dripping onto the floor.
I snatch up the towel and wrap it around me, trying to collect myself and remember that I’m a prisoner, locked up with a lethal Mafia predator.
I have to do whatever’s necessary to make it out of here alive.