Page 43 of Sinister Intentions

Panic gripped me as I reached up, feeling the short strands on my head. When did I lose this? When they took me? Or when he dumped me into the pool?

Vince knew my secret now. I searched for his eyes, but his expression remained unchanged. He wasn’t focused on me, wasn’t really looking at me.

Instead, he lifted me down, then simply wrapped a towel around me in my underwear. “Hold tight,” he said.

I grabbed the ends and tucked them in like an obedient little girl—which I was not. Usually.

He turned on the shower and tested the temperature with his hand until he was satisfied. Then, without warning, he pushed me into the spacious stall, the hot water cascading over us both.

I sputtered, caught off guard, but Vince’s firm voice cut through the spray. “Hold still.”

There was no menace in his tone, only a quiet command that I obeyed for some strange reason.

What was wrong with me? Why did I let him handle me as if I was a child—weak like a child?

And it felt…good?

Why? And why wasn’t I nervous? Why could he undress me, and there wasn’t even a pinch of panic in me?

He took the detachable showerhead and began rinsing me down, the water sluicing over my skin in gentle streams.

His movements were methodical and focused, yet he never once looked at my body or touched me inappropriately.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. How many different personalities did he have? He was a mystery, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to decipher the enigma that was Vince Salvini.

Or if I should.

Beneath his ruthless exterior lay a surprising tenderness. The way he interacted with his friends and how he cared for my well-being contradicted everything that he’d done before, everything he’d said, and everything I thought I knew about him.

I narrowed my eyes while studying him. The dichotomy was intriguing, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I wanted to understand him, to peel back the layers and uncover the man beneath the hardened facade.

But I knew better than to let my guard down. No matter how gentle his actions seemed at this moment, Vince Salvini was a dangerous man and an enemy, and it was essential to remember that.

He must’ve felt my stare because he looked at me with his dark, irritating eyes. “What?”

But what could I say? Should I cuss him out? Ask him if he was crazy? Because he sure was.

But maybe talking could wait until we were both dry and I was decent again? I shook my head and looked down at the tiles beneath my feet, avoiding any further eye contact.

He still had his socks on.

“Turn around,” he commanded, and for a second, I wanted to defy him, just because.

He must’ve felt me tensing because he grabbed my shoulders, turned me around, and pulled on the towel in one smooth move.

I inhaled sharply and immediately covered my ass. “What the hell?”

The low growl from him didn’t help.

I turned my head and stared at him over my shoulder and immediately met his eyes. I’d expected him to stare at my ass, which apparently wasn’t the case. “What do you think you’re doing, you perv?”

He cocked his head and looked at me as if he needed to think about it. “I’m heating you back up and cleaning off the chlorine. After that, we’ll find something for you to wear, then put some ointment on your wrists. What did you think I was doing?”

I narrowed my brows. Hesitated for a second. Should I really tell him what I thought of this situation? Oh, fuck it. “I thought you kidnapped me, tried to intimidate me, tried to drown me,and now you’re feeling me up while staring at my ass.” I paused. “Yeah, that about sums up what I’m thinking.”

Now it was his turn to narrow his eyes to slits. “You’re not wrong, apart from the feeling-you-up part.”

“And?”

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