Page 21 of Along for the Ride

My shoulders drop. “I’m guessing there’s no way to get you to sleep on the floor, huh?”

“Not a chance.” He tugs off his shoes and walks to the bathroom.

I follow him to the door, and a low buzz breaks the stale silence as he flips on the overhead light. Instead of a shower-tub combo, there’s only a shower. Its glass door stands ajar, and my mouth waters at the prospect of cleaning myself two days in a row. Lathering my body with hotel soap when I don’t feel like I’m on death’s door is a luxury I crave.

“Go on,” he says, waving me toward the shower. He must have seen me salivating over it.

I slip past him and ease the door closed, dropping articles of clothing as I near the glass partition. When I turn the tap to hot, steam claws up the glass and fills the room. An exhaust fan sluggishly runs overhead, unable to keep up with the forming humidity. I close my eyes and suck in a breath of thick air. This is as close as I’ll ever get to a spa day, so I plan to make the most of it.

I step inside the shower and sigh as the hot water rushes over my skin. Despite the hotel’s lackluster accommodations, this showerhead puts out incredible pressure. As I tilt my head beneath the stream, the tiny jets massage my scalp and send a pleasurable shiver up my spine. It’s too bad it doesn’t come off the wall. I can’t remember the last time I made myself come, and this bad boy would have been nice to hold between my legs.

I can’t deny that I’m sexually frustrated, and as precarious as my situation is, having to look at a double dose of eye candy for days hasn’t helped. One is certifiable and the other is an enigma, but they’re both attractive as fuck.

I push away the rising ache between my legs and focus on washing my hair and body. My imagination isn’t my friend right now, and letting either man touch me isn’t an option. I can’t let my guard down.

I soak in the scalding stream of water for a little while longer before I get out and dry off with a scratchy towel. A robe hangs on the back of the door. I grab it, wrapping it around my body and tying it at the waist. My eyes roll to the back of my head at the thought of walking out in this. He’s seen me in less, but I don’t want to tempt him.

Or myself.

I don’t really have a choice, so I exit the bathroom and try to avoid his gaze as I cross to the bed. I don’t have to see his eyes to know they’re on me, though. His dogged stare burns through the cheap terry cloth and sets my skin on fire. Before I’m reduced to ash, I need to get dressed. I reach for my bookbag, which I placed on the floor beside the bed, but it’s not there.

“Looking for this?” He lifts my bag and jiggles it in the air. “I need to get a shower, but I don’t trust you to stay put. You can stay in that robe until I get out, then I’ll give your clothes back to you.”

Running off while he showered hadn’t crossed my mind, and I silently berate myself for allowing him to keep one step ahead of me. I don’t argue with him, though. If I want to get on his good side, I’ll need to be a little more compliant. This isn’t the same as submitting out of fear—the way I survived under Mickey—so it doesn’t bother me to give in a little for now.

He peels his eyes off me and goes to the bathroom to get ready for bed. I lie back on the mattress. The robe scratches at the backs of my thighs, and I wish I could take it off. I shouldn’t complain—there are worse things out there than a shitty three-star robe—but I’m complaining.

I’ve nearly dozed off by the time Gentry emerges from the bathroom, but I’m wide awake when I see a massive statue of chiseled muscle standing shirtless in front of me again. His well-defined Adonis belt peeks from his waistband, and I consider using the tie from the robe to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. He tosses my bookbag at me, and it nearly collides with my face because I’m too busy gawking at perfection to catch it.

Forcing my eyes away from his body, I pull my spare clothes from the bag and start toward the bathroom. Before I can reach for the doorknob, his hand encircles my wrist, stopping me. Warmth radiates from his freshly showered body, and he smells like soap and sin.

“Get dressed in front of me,” he says. “I liked it.”

His low, sultry tone shoots straight to my pussy, and my panties would have melted if I had any on.

But I shake my head. My compliance has a limit.

“You gave Karson shit for being a creep andthatis creepy,” I say.

He chuckles, but he doesn’t release my wrist. “Then I’m a creep.”

I must be a creep too—or at least out of my mind—because I’m seriously considering offering an even trade. We can both get naked and dress in front of each other. Hell, maybe we can dress each other. With our teeth.

My vagina and I will need to have a talk later, because she is putting some really shitty ideas in my head. If I know what’s good for me, I’ll move away from him before I accidentally put his dick in my mouth.

Before I can move, he grips the tail of the tie around my waist and pulls. The scratchy fabric falls open, fully exposing my entire storefront. I grasp at the robe and pull it around me, dropping my bag in the process. With red cheeks, I scramble to snatch up my things and hurry into the bathroom, but he’s on me before I can cover myself. He steps into me, and I flinch as he lifts my chin and examines my throat. The bruises are only whispers now, but they’re still visible.

“Is this what you’re running from?” His fingers leave my chin, and he engulfs the handprint with his grasp. “Who did this to you?”

I look away. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business when it could affectmybusiness. I should know if it’s someone I need to worry about.”

I shiver when I remember Mickey’s promise to find me. To kill me. But Gentry isn’t asking because he’s worried aboutme;his concern is for himself. If I want to earn his trust, this might not be a bad way to do that. Maybe it won’t hurt to tell him.

“It’s my fiancé,” I whisper.

His hand drops from my throat and he takes the clothes from my hands and places them on the TV stand. “The only marks that should be on a woman are those made in a moment of pleasure. Did you like it when he wrapped his hand around your throat?”

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