Page 22 of Welker

Moira disgruntledly picked up the stack, which included some very tiny but stretchy undergarments, and stomped with them into the bathroom. Her irritation dissipated a tiny bit when she saw a toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as two small bottles holding shampoo and conditioner. Welker had clearly gone out while she’d snoozed the day away, and purchased the items.

Moira grumbled. Damn the man for being both cheeky—giving her clothes he knew she’d never wear in a million years—and sweet, by making sure she had toiletries.

Well, he was going to fish-his-wish and get an eyeful, that was for sure. With no other choice, these tight-ass puppies were going on. The curves she’d never revealed to pretty much anybody would be on full display with that freaking outfit.

Moira turned the water on in the shower, thinking to warm it up as she brushed her teeth, but was pleasantly surprised when it instantly emerged hot. The perks just kept coming. The puzzle-of-a-man must have one of those instant hot water thingies, which had her daydreaming that if she stood under the spray for an hour, it wouldn’t get cold.

Awesome.

But just her luck, taking her time today wasn’t in the cards. They had to get back to her place to help with clean-up.

Moira finished brushing her teeth and stepped under the spray, thinking ahead. When she went to her house, she’d have to see if any of her clothes or personal belongings were salvageable, then she had to plan for where to stay until she was safe. Maybe, since the MC had done a number on her abode, they’d leave her alone from now on…

Not likely. The president had spit nails over his incarceration, threatened retribution, and that’s exactly what she’d get until the rogue group was completely declawed.

Stepping from the shower, Moira toweled off and looked for a hair dryer. Finding none, she contemplated braiding her hair, wet, which would mean that the thick column would still be damp when she went to bed tonight.

She bit her lip. She could always leave it loose to dry.

Loose it is.

She finger-combed her hair into a semblance of order, and whisps began to curl already, but there was nothing she could do about it.

She grunted down at the clothes that sat on the closed toilet seat.

In for a penny…

Quickly, before she changed her mind, Moira pulled on the undergarments, then the two pieces of athletic clothing—both of which molded to her body like a lover’s hands—before turning to the full-length mirror tacked up on the back of the bathroom door to have a peek at the damage.

She sighed.

Her boobs were too big, her hips, wide, but there was no denying that she had a flat stomach from working out, as well as a tight ass and thighs. All in all, it wasn’t a bad body, she simply wasn’t used to seeing it all…showcased.

Finding no socks, she padded back into the bedroom and looked under the chair. Nope. None provided. Well, barefoot wouldn’t be the worst of what Welker would see. She drew in a deep breath. It was now or never. She paused in front of the door. She could do this.

Moira tiptoed out into the hallway, her nose twitching at the smell of coffee. Cocking an ear for noise, she heard…singing?

Welker was clearly in the kitchen, crooning loudly, victimizing Beyoncé’s Texas Hold ‘Em, which Moira knew for sure didn’t have three different keys.

She snorted. If Welker could expose that hidden side of himself, Moira could do a big reveal, as well.

Steeling herself, she walked downstairs and made her way to the kitchen doorway.

“So lay your cards, down, down?—”

Moira cleared her throat.

Welker spun toward her, dropping the egg he was just about to crack onto the floor where it splattered, dead.

“Moir—” He cut himself off again, but this time, he looked her slowly up and down, his mouth open and his eyes wide. “Shit. The clothes…” He coughed as if to regroup. “They, uh, fit.”

“Barely,” Moira grunted. “Not my normal thing.”

“They look…you look…” His gaze went to her hair. “Blonde.”

Had she somehow fuddled the man’s brains? Her hair, as always, was mousy brown. “Nope. Brown,” she corrected.

“With gold and blonde and platinum…” he trailed off.

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