Page 73 of Reckless Harmony

She glared at him. “You wish. You know, even if I am murdered, my will has specific instructions not to sell my property to you.”

“Shocking,” he said dryly.

“Why the hell didn’t you go to the front door like a normal person?” she asked.

“I did. I rang the doorbell three times. Maybe you couldn’t hear it over your screaming.”

“It’s broken,” she muttered.

“Is there anything in this house that isn’t?” he asked.

“The plumbing works perfectly,” she snapped.

What almost looked like a smile flashed across his face. “Why are you screaming?”

“None of your business, creeper,” she said. “Go away.”

He looked her up and down, and for the first time, she was exceedingly aware of just how naked she was under her very thin, very short, cotton nightgown.

She crossed her arms over her breasts. It was absolutely her imagination that Stark’s gaze had lingered on them, but her nipples were stiff from the cold air coming in through the open window. The last thing she wanted was for Stark to think she was attracted to him.

I think he realized you wanted to fuck him when you licked his damn thumb.

“Are you wearing makeup?” Stark asked.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Why?”

“I’ve never seen you wear makeup before. And your hair isn’t…”

She touched it self-consciously. She had taken the time to blow dry her hair and use a straightener to smooth out the slight waviness, and she thought it looked good. “Isn’t what?”

“In a ponytail,” he said.

“I have a date tonight,” she said.

“I remember.” Stark studied the wax pot on the bathroom counter and the fabric strips. “All of this screaming is because of a little waxing?”

“Shut up,” she said.

“You come across as a lot tougher than that, Ms. Abrams.”

“You can talk to me about tough when you’ve waxed your private parts, Stark,” she barked at him.

“Is that blood?” He studied the strip in the sink.

“Can you please leave me to my misery?” she asked.

She went to close the window, and he said, “Did you know you have a fabric strip dangling from your crotch?”

“A gentleman wouldn’t mention that.” Now, her crotch and her face were on fire.

He leaned his arms against the windowsill, the cold and the snow not bothering him at all. “Based on the amount of hair on the strip in the sink, you probably should have trimmed before you waxed.”

“Oh, thank you so much for the tip, Mr. Labia Waxing Expert,” she snapped.

“I’m not an expert, but apparently, I’ve waxed more labia than you have. And I haven’t had any complaints about the results,” he said.

That made her pause. “You’re lying.”

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