Page 44 of Unbelonging
At this, he started walking again, and I fell in step beside him.
I slid him a sideways glance. "Are we talking guys or girls?"
He blew out a breath. "With the guys, well, they're not usually a problem. If they get out of hand, I just, uh –"
I grinned. "Kick their asses?"
"No," he said, sounding almost offended. Then he gave a small laugh. "Okay, well, sometimes. But normally, I just tell 'em to leave."
"Do they?"
"Almost always."
"And when they don't?"
"Well, uh, that's when the ass-kicking comes in."
I laughed. "And the girls?"
"Girls?" He looked away, and cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, they're a little harder sometimes."
"Why?" I asked.
"For one thing," he said in a teasing tone, "I can't exactly kick their asses."
We'd made it upstairs, where he'd led me to a large bathroom off the hall, stocked with a small wicker-basket of toiletries – little soaps, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, the works. Before he left, he'd also gone to retrieve some casual clothes he said were from his own closet.
"They're not gonna fit," he said. "But at least they're clean." He leaned close to me and said, "Is it bad if I like what you're wearing now better?"
The feel of him, along with his words, had me wishing I didn't have to shower alone. But that's exactly what I needed to do, assuming I didn't want that Bishop guy barging in to join us.
After Lawton left, I locked the door and dove straight for the shower.
While in there, I couldn't help but think about him. I imagined him showering with me. In my mind, I could practically see the soapy lather running down the powerful lines of his body and the curvier lines of my own. In my imagination, our bodies slid against each other, slippery with soap and hot with desire.
The images kept coming, and I found my hands lingering in certain places – places I envisioned him touching, and hoped he'd be touching later. In my thoughts, my small hands were replaced with his rough, powerful ones. What would it feel like to have his hands on me? Really on me?
I couldn’t deny it. I was aching to find out. In fact, I was planning to find out. I'd been trying to resist him, but I knew defeat when I saw it. He was like that pint of ice cream in the freezer, supposedly for emergencies. I was going to have that ice cream sooner or later, and the damage would be the same regardless.
With Lawton, my willpower had officially run out.
And the longer I lingered in the shower alone, the longer I'd have to wait before all those cravings were satisfied. I rinsed off, turned off the water, and stepped out onto the luxurious bath mat.
The bathroom was thick with steam. Wrapped in a plush towel, I stood in front of the ornate, but distinctly foggy, mirror. Using the corner of the oversized towel, I rubbed at the glass, clearing a spot large enough to inspect my face.
From my hazy reflection, it wasn't as bad as I'd feared. I'd already bathed at the Parkers', but I hadn't done much else. My face was free of makeup. This was a blessing and a curse – a blessing, because there was nothing left for the water to smudge, and a curse, because I felt naked in more ways than one without it.
I wiped at the mirror to get a better look, only to have the mirror instantly fog up again. If no one were in the house, I'd simply crack open the hallway door and release some of the steam into the corridor. But with not just Lawton, but also Bishop lingering who knows where, that simply wasn't an option.
On the bathroom's far wall, I spotted a second door. Where it led, I didn't exactly know. Walking over, I took a chance and cracked it open, poking my head barely out of the steamy bathroom to check it out.
Instantly, cool air flooded my face as I peered into the darkened space, illuminated only by moonlight, streaming in through a large double-window. I blinked a couple of times, and when my eyes adjusted, I was able to make out enough details to get my bearings.
It was a modestly sized bedroom – obviously a guest room – with a full-size bed on the far wall, a night stand on each side, and a matching dresser opposite it.
The room was ice cold, and it was easy to see why. One of the two windows was open, just a couple of inches, but more than enough to fill the room with frigid night air.
Instead of retreating, I welcomed the cold, moving toward it. The shower had been scalding, just the way I liked it, but the lingering warmth was becoming oppressive, not so much physically – I loved the heat – but intellectually, I knew that cooling down would be smart.
