Page 17 of Daddy Down Under

He finished unpacking and stowed his backpack under the bed, then grabbed one of my suitcases. “Let’s get you settled as well.”

“I can do that myself.”

“I know, but I like doing this for you. Why don’t you shower and get changed into something more comfortable?” He put my first suitcase on a luggage rack. “What’s the code?”

“Nine-five-seven.”

He dialed the lock into the right position, then opened the suitcase. He hummed as he riffled through my things. “You could change into something more comfortable…if you actually brought something other than suits and dress shirts. Jesus, is there even a single pair of sweatpants in there? Shorts? You do realize it’s summer here, right?”

I laughed sheepishly. “I’m not sure, actually. I was in a bit of a mood when I packed.”

He tut-tutted me, then waved his hand. “Go take that shower. I’ll inventory what you have, and if needed, we’ll go clothes shopping.”

Arguing seemed useless, so I dropped my pants, unbuttoned my dress shirt, took it off, and then whipped my undershirt over my head. Ocean was right. I did want to freshen up, and a shower seemed like an excellent idea. But when I headed to the bathroom, dressed in my boxer briefs, Ocean clicked his tongue.

I looked over my shoulder. “What?”

“Ditch the underwear.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I like looking at your ass.”

I didn’t even know what to say to that. I’d had plenty of men appreciate my body, but none had been quite as open and blatant about it—or as bossy. It had to be the lack of sleep catching up to me that had me obeying him so easily, treating him to a good peek as I bent over to take them off.

“Mmm, nice.” Ocean’s voice sounded hoarse, and when I peeked over my shoulder, his eyes were glued to my ass. What do you know, I still had it at forty-four.

I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water massage my tired body. Taking a nap wasn't smart if I wanted to beat the jet lag, but I wasn’t sure if I could make it without it. What time was it anyway?

I’d landed in Sydney around nine in the morning, and my flight to Melbourne had been about two hours later if I remembered correctly. The flight from Sydney to Melbourne had been an hour and a half, plus the drive to the hotel, so it was probably around one-thirty? Fuck no, I’d never make it till the evening without a nap. Jetlag be damned.

I toweled off, wrapped the towel around my waist, and walked back into the bedroom. Ocean stood staring at the closet with his arms crossed. Both my suitcases were gone, so had he unpacked them?

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He spun around. “You brought fourteen dress shirts.”

“Okay…and the problem with that is, what, exactly?”

“You mean other than the fact that they’re all white or blue?”

Were they? “Most of my suits are black or dark blue, so they combine easily.”

“You also packed ten white undershirts, six different suits, twenty pairs of identical black socks, and a dozen of the most hideous boxer shorts on the planet. They’re silk, for fuck’s sake. Baby-blue silk. I thought you had taste.”

Oh god, I’d forgotten about those. “They were a gift, okay? When I was packing, I didn’t want to wait for my dry cleaning, so I brought those instead.”

“There are so many things wrong with that sentence that I don’t even know where to start. But let’s tackle the obvious first. A gift from whom?”

“A guy I slept with a few times. He had a…classic taste.”

“Classic? That’s one way of putting it. What was he, eighty years old? Because that’s about the only valid excuse for wearing baby-blue silk underwear. They’re for old people.”

“Iamold, compared to you, at least.”

Ocean waved his hand dismissively. “Forty-four is not old. You’re in your prime. And you’re not wearing those.”

I stood a little straighter. Flattery rarely worked on me, but this factual statement totally did. “I’m going to have to until I buy something else.”

---