Page 90 of House of Cards

I laugh, sobering up instantly. “Then what the fuck does it matter? You’ve obviously done your research on me, shitty as it was. Figure it out yourself.”

He stands, staring down at me with an unreadable expression.

“Angels rarely get a chance to relax. You should be grateful for the reprieve.” Smith’s voice is as flat and cold as an autopsy table.

He turns to leave. And I should let him go.

“Grateful?” I sit up, sloshing water and suds over the side of the tub. “You kidnap me, assault me,sell me, and now I’m supposed to thank you for pouring me a fucking bath?”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore that one minute you’re a monster, the next you’re…” I wave my hands helplessly at the mountains of bubbles. “Whatever the fuck this is.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I’m still a monster, Zoey. Don’t ever forget that.”

“A monster that likes bubble baths,” I mutter. “What will they think of next?”

Smith flinches and throws me a frustrated look, his voice dropping dangerously low.

“Things could be much worse for you right now.”

“Then why aren’t they, huh? What changed?”

“Nothing’s changed.” He rakes his gaze over my body like he’s calculating the net worth of my organs. “Nothingeverchanges.”

His fingers start unbuttoning his shirt.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “What are you?—”

“Move.” His eyes flicker to the edge of the bath.

“What?” I blurt out, hesitating just long enough for him to snap his fingers.

Water rushes off me as I stand, splashing around my calves as I shuffle back and perch on the tub’s wide rim.

The pressure makes my ass ache, but I’d still rather sit than stand. I did a lot of running in that maze yesterday. My thighs and calves are stiff as hell.

I try not to stare as Smith undresses. Try not to ogle his strong, veiny hands and toned arms. His firm, defined torso. The hint of abs under his skin. The thick cock hanging so heavy between his legs.

But try as I might to ignore the effect he has on me, by the time Smith is stripped bare, every cell in my body is fired up. He climbs over the side, his eyes locked on mine as he grabs the rim on either side and slowly lowers himself into the water.

No wonder he told me to climb out. There isn’t a lot of space left once he’s sunk beneath the surface up to his neck.

All business, all the time.

Because what the fuck else should I expect?

He dips his head under the surface. The position shifts him down closer to me, the back of his thighs brushing my toes.

Instead of jerking away, I stroke my toes against his skin.

Water streams over his corded neck and strong jaw as he rushes into a sit and drags his hands over his hair. Clumps of bubbles cling to his skin, sliding down as he leans back against the tub, legs splayed. He lays his arms on the rim, hand draped casually inside.

Heat crawls onto my face when his dark eyes fix on me with an intensity that works its way deep inside me.

There’s a smoldering scowl around his mouth.

Demanding an explanation.

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