Page 5 of Drive Her Wild

“Weird.” I furrow my brow and continue with my sarcastic tone, “Did you know they also don’t have 1956 trucks rolling off the assembly line either?”

“Holy hell!” Charlie loudly interrupts the two of us. “I can’t tell if the two of you actually hate each other or are prepping for one hell of a hate fuck.”

As though I have no control over my neck, my head snaps toward Amaya and our eyes meet. Our gazes burn into each other’s, and my heart begins to race as I watch a blush creep over her cheeks.

“Definitely hate each other,” she stutters the words as she breaks our gaze. Her eyes quickly focused on the box at her feet, rummaging through the books as though she’s attempting to keep herself busy until I’m no longer standing in front of her.

The three of us work in near silence as we lug the boxes from the truck into her condo. We’re nearing the back of the truck when it starts to lightly sprinkle with rain. Because I’m a gentleman—and my mother would whoop my ass—I quickly over to get the remaining boxes to keep the two of them out of the rain.

The pleasure I get from watching a faint smile tick at the corner of Amaya’s mouth, followed by the pained ‘thank you,’ makes the gesture entirely worthwhile. Until the light sprinkle turns into a monsoon-worthy downpour.

The freakishly warm day was not nearly warm enough to stand outside in the rain.

Bringing in the last box, I’m fucking soaked and freezing. Without thinking, I peel the wet shirt from my body and begin to look for the box labeled ‘towels’ that I brought in not too long ago.

Chapter Four

AMAYA

“That’s the last one,” Jackson loudly announces before I hear him muttering something about towels.

Turning around, I gasp when I am surprised by the view of the shirtless man before me.

Holy fucking shit…

My eyes slowly rake down his body, watching the beads of water drip from his hair, rolling down both his face and torso.

The body of a fucking Greek god.

Every last inch of him is hard, ripped muscle—broad shoulders, bulging biceps, hard pecs, chiseled abs. Following down his abs, I can’t believe the deep V-cut dipping into his pants.

It’s like a fucking arrow straight to his—

I audibly gulp when my eyes meet the bulge in his gray sweatpants. Soaked from the rain, they’re pretty much glued to his body. So tightly glued to his body that I can clearly make out every inch of him.

Every glorious and girthy inch of him.

I think my panties just incinerated.

“Wh…why…” I stammer as I try to locate a single brain cell that’s currently not wondering what it’s like to get fucked by that thing. “Where’s your shirt?”

I dig through the box next to me and pull out a large bath towel. Crossing the room, I unfold it as I walk and press it to his chest when I reach him. His hands grip over mine when he reaches for it, and I’m frozen like a deer in headlights. Staring into his hazel eyes, he slides my hands with his, roaming them over his perfect fucking body as he dries himself.

He lowers his face toward mine, and my heart begins thumping in my chest as he continues to move in what feels like slow motion. He stops, so close that his breath blows over my lips.

“Your warm hands feel good,” he whispers with a slow, deep drawl that would wet panties in a nunnery. “Anything else you want to rub them over?”

“Fucking childish pig.” I shove him away from me, but his hands hold fast to mine, keeping me at arm’s length.

“What?” he smirks with a cocked brow. “You literally eye fucked my cock for five minutes from across the room.”

Shit!

Was I really staring at him for that long?

“I glanced for a second,” I bumble, immediately wishing I could swallow my words as I watch that annoyingly charming smile spread across his face again.

“So, you were looking?”

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