Page 98 of My Ruthless Husband

The white towel around his waist sits dangerously low, barely doing its job. He was in the middle of drying his hair with the other towel but freezes when he sees me.

For the next few tantalizingly slow seconds, neither one of us is able to move.

A shiver races down my spine. Time momentarily stands still, and an electric charge fills the air.

I try to stop my gaze from drifting over him. I really do but it’s useless. I watch, dry-mouthed as droplets of water drip from his hair onto his well-defined shoulders and run over his pecs, down his chiseled abs.

He shaved his stubble off. And although I love the feel of his stubble against my palm, I ache to stroke his clean-shaven jaw.

My eyes slide down for the second time, tracing his glistening abs again before taking in that delicious V-line that’s half hidden by the towel.

Suddenly there’s a throbbing between my legs. Then I feel myself getting wet. So wet. It surprises me, making me flush hot.

God, I ache for him to touch me. So much that I feel dizzy from the desire washing over me. Devouring him with my eyes has left me panting.

Swallowing thickly, I finally look up only to freeze when I meet his gaze. Oh, no! I just got caught red handed, shamelessly checking him out.

Fuck!I don’t usually swear. Not even in my mind but this situation calls for it because I swear all of my dirty thoughts about him must be written all over my face.

The muscles in his jaw are clenching. Hard. And the way his chest rises and falls tells me he is angry. I made him angry because he knows now. He knows how much of a bad girl I am because I want him to do bad, bad things to me. He is mad at me. Or maybe he isn’t? maybe he is angry because he’s trying and failing to control himself because he wants me so much. The thought makes me giddy.

I clear my throat. “I didn’t know you spent the night here.” I grimace at my stupidity. What am I saying? I should tell him why I’m here instead of asking him—

“I stayed over for an early meeting in the area.” He stops drying his hair and throws the small towel on the bed then stalks over to me. My heart is racing as arousal courses through me. I’m trembling with need by the time he reaches me.

I can feel my nipples straining against my bra and I try to subtly look down. But before I can check, he speaks, “Why aren’t you in class?”

“I forgot my boobs.” Then add, “books!” squeakily.

Oh no, no, no! Why did I say that? I’m such a mess. I forgot my…boobs?Seriously?I want to disappear. Why does my brain do this to me? Okay, breathe. Just breathe. Maybe if I hide my face, he won’t notice. Ugh, why am I like this? This is the most embarrassing thing ever. I want to crawl into a hole right now. I want to—

“Did you eat?” he asks, stopping my train of thought.

“Huh?”

“Did you?” he lowers his head, staring into my eyes. And I’m lost. In his dark, dark eyes.

He shakes me, and it takes a beat too long for my senses to catch up. It hits me then. Damian is touching me. His large, warm hands are on my shoulders. I’m wearing a sleeveless dress that means he is touching my skin. His touch is so electrifying, it sends a shiver down my spine. My senses come alive, every nerve in my body aware of his closeness.

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“You need to eat.” He leaves me then disappears into the walk-in closet.

He returns just as quickly as he left, dressed in a black shirt and black pants.

“Come.” He offers me his hand. I take it. As he starts toward the door, I dig my heels in to halt his progress. “Actually, I am running late.”

“At least have a smoothie before you go.”

I begin shaking my head but pause when he frowns. “You can take it with you.”

He tugs me along, and I’m surprised when he heads toward the kitchen. My eyebrows knit together in confusion, and I follow him silently. Upon entering, I don’t find the chef there so I get more confused.

“Sit,” he orders, pointing to one of the stools by the counter. I obey, my gaze following his every move.

I watch in amazement as he begins folding back the cuffs of his crisp, expensive shirt. I shouldn’t find it hot but I do. Squirming, I watch the whole scene by sinking my teeth in my lower lip.

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