Page 40 of Trigger

“Dinneris ready.” I informed him. “The soup is still hot.”

“Youcan come in.”

Ipushed the door open and…oh my fucking God!

Iturned my back to him so swiftly I almost dislocated my shoulder, but the imageof his bare, firm ass was imprinted on my mind.

“Canyou put some clothes on?” I growled, stumbling out of the bathroom with my handcovering my eyes. “What the fuck!”

Waterdroplets running down the massive back.No. Wet, dirty blond hair.No.Muscular, heavy thighs.Hell, no.

Hischuckle followed me. “I didn’t peg you for a prude, Carter.”

“Ididn’t peg you for an exhibitionist, asshole.”

Whenhe finally came to the living room, I was relieved to see him wearing mysweats, but he didn’t bother with a T-shirt. His chest was massive andsprinkled with soft, blond hair that ran in a thin line down his washboardstomach. I tried not to stare, but… my God. He looked like a wrestler—of adisturbing size.

“Iused your toothbrush,” Thorsen said, sliding his hand down his chest to swipeaway the leftover water drops there. “Mine was dirty. I hope you don’t mind.”

Irubbed my forehead in frustration. Of course, he did.

“Vickyis cute, by the way,” he said, reaching for the photo of us from our vacationin Mallorca. “Not too photogenic, though, right?”

Isnorted. “You don’t like her. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“You’reright,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t like her, but that doesn’t mean I don’tthink she’s cute.”

“Whydon’t you like her?”

Hesneezed before replying. “Dunno.”

“Yes,you do. You just don’t want to say it.”

“Sheseems insincere, is all.”

Ipulled a T-shirt out of a drawer and threw it at him because I refused to stareat his chest a moment longer. “Why?”

“Probablybecause she doesn’t know the real you.”

“Andyou do? Since you met me… what? A few weeks ago?”

Heshrugged, picking up another photo.

“Timedoesn’t matter. And you can stop acting as if I’m a stranger, Carter. We wentthrough some tough shit, you know? It brought us together, despite you hatingmy guts. Deal with it.”

Ipointed a finger at him. “First, that’s not what I’m doing. Second, why do youkeep provoking me? Third, put on that goddamn T-shirt.”

Hefinally did what I said, sneezing while at it.

“Thanksfor taking me in,” he mumbled, blowing his nose after I handed him a tissue. “Iappreciate it.”

“You’rewelcome,” I said, resting my hands on my hips. “Are you hungry?”

“Icould eat. Just no burgers and fries, please. I had too many of those atMcDonald’s.”

“Whatdid the doctor say to you?” I asked him as he sat at the table.

“Noconcussion, no major damage. A bump on the head, dehydration, blah, blah. I’lllive. You?”

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