Stephanie
TWENTY-SIX
The advantages of being a reader are vast, and leave him underwhelming unprepared for the battles ahead.
I’ve never come so hard in all my life. I’m falling apart with fantasies of the man I’m sequestered away with, and he sees me as damaged goods.
A woman not worth his attention or time.
If he had thought differently, he’d have closed the distance and kissed me.
There was no better moment, but instead of doing it, he walked away, and I have to face the reality that he’ll keep doing so.
But am I going to make it easy for him? Absolutely fucking not.
I want him to wake up dreading what torture I’m going to put him through and fall asleep with thoughts of what could be if he could stop seeing me as the girl I used to be and focus on the woman I am today.
I lean my head against the glass and breathe through the pleasure as it seeps away and drains with the water.
“That took the edge off,” I whisper with a smile playing on my lips. Now maybe I can think straight. I glance down at my toes. The pale blue polish is a little chipped and in need of urgent replacement. Tomorrow, I’ll have options. Is it too late to add a few more to the list?
I lift my head and do something I haven’t done since leaving Green Hay Institute. I write an affirmation in the condensation. Be brave. Be unapologetic. Be Stephanie.
I draw a heart to finalize it, like that makes it any more likely to stick. It doesn’t, but I like to think otherwise. Plus, it looks cute.
My left hand lifts to place against the print higher up.
I frown, pulling it down when I find it smaller.
Wait, what? I shut the water off and step out of the shower, not caring that I’m dripping all over the tiled floor because there’s no way that’s my hand.
How could it be? But it’s perfectly lined up with my handprint from inside the shower.
The one with my opposite hand, the one not controlling the shower head between my legs.
I stare at it in disbelief. This is his bathroom.
It’s his shower. His glass. He has every right to have his handprints all over it.
But... I trace the outline. I know a fresh print when I see it.
And this? This is as fresh as a daisy. My eyes dart to the door leading to his bedroom.
Closed and locked, just as I left it. I strut to the opposite door and fling it open, but there are no sneaky shadows in sight.
I turn back, half expecting the handprint to have disappeared. But it’s still there, clear as day, leaving me with the only logical conclusion: I had a voyeur for my one-woman impromptu shower show.
I bite my lip as I stare at the handprint harder. Still there. If he was uninterested, he’d have left, but he didn’t. Not only didn’t he leave, but he got as close as he could and matched my handprint with his own.
Oh, Mr. Austin, I have your measure now. These next few days are going to be fun. So freaking fun.
Plans form in my mind as I grab a towel to wrap around my body and a smaller one for my hair. A wicked smile graces my lips when I change my mind and swap them around.
Brace yourself, James. I’m about to test every line you’ve drawn in the sand. Every rule you vowed you’d never break. And above all, I’m about to test your restraint.
I lift onto my tiptoes to inspect how much on show I am in the mirror. Enough to be a tease, but not obscene. I can’t be too obvious; he’s too smart for that.
I ditch the larger towel, opting to leave my long, wet hair free, happy to provide all the material to fuel those restless nightly fantasies of me.
As I pass the shower again, I pause. Be brave. Be unapologetic. Be Stephanie.
My lips lift as I add another affirmation above his handprint on the outside of the shower. Maybe he’ll see it, maybe he won’t. It’s all part of the game.
I flick the lock on his door and enter his bedroom.
Step one: Use every trick in the romance book to make him feral or suffer. Bonus points for both.
Lucky for me, I’m an avid reader.
Unlucky for him, he’s not. He won’t even notice what’s happening until it’s too late.