Page 41 of His Property

He glances around and nods. “Fair enough.”

We lock eyes again, and Victor gestures toward the stairs. “Ladies first.”

Such a gentleman.

I turn and head up the stairs, but my eagerness dims when my muscles protest. I’m not as sore as I would have predicted, but the stairs are still tough to walk up. My legs protest, along with my back, and I cringe until I’m at the basement door.

When I go to turn the knob, Victor puts a hand on mine. He twists the knob with care and eases the door open.

Neither of us speak as we step into an outdated kitchen with the light on. There’s a sliding door that leads into a small backyard, and Victor goes to it. I look around while he opens and closes the door, this time without being as careful. It seems like he’s taking this just-got-in-from-a-date-night thing a little far, but I let it go and survey his kitchen.

It’s simplistic, for sure. He says he has a sister, but I don’t see feminine charm anywhere. There’s just a wooden, round table, outdated appliances, old, cracked tile, and junk food littering the countertop.

We make our way from the kitchen into the living room where there’s more of the same uncared-for-home feel. Only the light from the kitchen illuminates the space, but I can still tell that the carpet needs refreshing, and the walls could use a fresh coat of paint to get rid of the cigarette stains. A lumpy red couch is the only piece of furniture to sit on, and it has an end table beside it but no coffee table. The only thing new-looking in the place is the decently-sized TV mounted to the wall.

None of this strikes me as particularly odd, even though I know Victor must have money. I would peg him as a simple man who doesn’t care about things like new carpet or drapes. It’s a little weird to me that the sister doesn’t, but that isn’t what stands out the most.

It’s the sheets hanging from two doorways, acting as makeshift doors. One is off the living room, and the other is a little farther down a hall that runs behind the staircase.

I squint at the doorways, but Victor takes my arm and drags me along with him through the living room toward the stairs. I’m slow going up them, but Victor is patient with me. He must sense that I’m in pain… and care.

There’s a rail that runs up the wall at the same incline as the staircase, and there’s one of those chairs that wheelchair bound individuals can use to get to a second floor.

I run my finger along the padded seat as I pass it, leaving behind a trail in the dust. The chair hasn’t been used in a while. It makes me think the sister isn’t the one wheelchair bound, but thatwouldexplain the curtains on the doorframes.

We get to the top of the stairs and pass a room that doesn’t even have a curtain covering the doorway, and I slow my gate to peek inside. It’s a home gym... I think. There’s a platform with two beams running across that I recognize from a movie where an amputee used it to practice walking. There’s also a mat and a bunch of other exercise things that don’t look like they’d be for Victor.

Victor notices me snooping, and he takes my arm and forces me in front of him.

We come to a closed door, one of two on this floor, and Victor opens it.

He urges me into the bathroom, comes in after me, and shuts the door behind him.

It’s a small bathroom, so it’s a little cramped in here, but there’s the shower I was promised. I glance around at the men’s hygiene products and notice there’s only one toothbrush in the holder. Victor must not share this bathroom.

“If you’re going to be nosy, you could try to be sly about it.”

I move my gaze to him and am a little surprised to see an amused grin. He isn’t uncomfortable with me up here.

“Says the person who rifled through my things only hours ago.”

“At your request.”

I raise a brow. “You spent plenty of time snooping while I was getting the money you didn’t take, so I’m sure you felt right at home today.”

He chuckles and leans on the bathroom sink. “If you were the one with the gun, you would get to snoop too.” He gestures behind me. “Take your shower.” His eyes dip to my cleavage. “Or would you rather have a bath?”

I glance down at myself and debate on the bath. It would feel heavenly, and my muscles would thank me for it, but I’ve got too much sweat to wash away. Plus, I’m scared of what he may be thinking. My skin heats at the possibility of him touching me while I’m submerged in warm water, but he could just as easily be thinking about holding my head beneath the surface for his amusement.

“Mouse?”

I blink and come back to the present.

“What’s it gonna be?”

“Shower,” I mutter, bending and taking off my shoes. I peel off my dress and ignore the blood that rushes to my cheeks. Victor has seen me naked plenty. I shouldn’t be embarrassed by it now, but I am. Something about the bright light in here versus the red dim of the basement.

I hop in the shower and take my time washing off all the grime. Victor stands in the bathroom and waits for me, and when I’m finished, he opens a cabinet to retrieve a towel.

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