Lev (Shot Callers 1)

I stood there, mouth gaping. “Wow. This is so fancy.”

His next sentence had me confused. “This is my room.”

“Then why—” Realization had me taking a step back and away from him. My voice deceptively calm, I stated, “I am not sleeping with you.”

He looked me up and down then scoffed. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Oh, Mina…again with the assumptions!

I turned my head to hide the fact that my face was now beet red. I was making a goddamn fool out of myself. Of course he didn’t want to sleep with me, not when he had an endless stream of gorgeous women likely panting for him down at Bleeding Hearts. I was such a jerk. “I don’t understand.”

Lev stepped farther into the room before turning left and disappearing into what must have been a hidden closet. When he came back to me, he was minus his suit jacket and his sleeves were rolled up. He stopped a foot away from me, held up his phone, and before I could say a word, the flash went off.

“Hey,” I complained, scrunching my nose.

He shrugged, placing the cell into his pocket. “Just a little insurance policy, in case you decide to leave in the middle of the night with some of my things.” He looked at me. “It’s nothing personal. I don’t know you. I’m positive you’re not sure about me either. You don’t know me. But as long as you’re in my home, you and I will be sleeping in the same room.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand and kept talking. “The sofa folds out into a bed. That’s where I’ll sleep. You can take the bed. You’ll forgive me for not putting my trust into someone who I’ve known for less than three hours. Especially under the circumstances we met.”

Well…when he put it like that, maybe I was being a bit of a brat by protesting.

Okay. I was just going to have to pull up my big-girl panties and deal.

Speaking of panties... “I don’t have any clean clothes.” I held up my bag. “Is there somewhere I can wash these?”

He took the bag from me and I blanched. “No, wait, I can do it!” I jumped for it, but he held it out of my reach. “Give it back!”

“I just want to be sure you don’t have anything dangerous in here.” He eyed me good. “My safety will always come before your pride. Got that?”

Well, shit.

It took me a whole five seconds to give in. “Okay, but can I please be the one to empty it?” He hesitated. I plead gently, “Please.”

He waited a moment before he handed me the bag. “Okay, but you’ll do it right here. Right in front of me.”

Damn it. I would just have to try and conceal what I needed to as inconspicuously as I could. One by one, I took things out of my pack. Two t-shirts, a ratty men’s sweater, which served me well in the colder weather, a pair of black jeans with holes at the bottom, a pair of grey socks, and…

Wrapping them quickly, I tried to slip them into my pocket, but a hand gripping my wrist stopped me. He squeezed tight and I went rigid.

“Show me.”

Pride held me captive. My cheeks burned.

He squeezed hard enough to bruise and I winced. “Show me.”

I pulled them out of my pocket and tossed them onto the bed. Distressed, I whispered, “Panties. Just panties.”

He glanced at the black balls of material on the bed before turning my bag upside down and shaking it. The small Swiss army knife I’d found on the street fell out of the side pocket. I immediately defended the concealment. “It’s blunt.”

With analyzing eyes, he held it up to examine it. “You could still stick it through someone if you needed it to.” He put it into his pocket. “You won’t need this anymore.”

Of course I wouldn’t. How about my soul? Want that, too? It’s not like I need it.

I was grateful, of course, but I still didn’t understand this guy’s motive.

Taking my bag, he shoved the clothes back into them and threw it high onto his shoulder. “Come,” he ordered, and dutiful as I was, I followed. A door on the left side of the room, next to the wall-to-wall bookshelf, was opened, and at the sight of the bath, shower, shampoo, and soaps, a tremor of delight coursed through me.

“You can wash up in here. Take your time.” He stepped back and added, “I only ask that you don’t lock the door. I won’t come in unless I need to. When I call out, please respond, or else I’ll believe you’re in need of assistance.”

That sounded reasonable. But still, I asked, “You promise you won’t come in?”

His cold eyes pierced me. “I’m not looking for a cheap thrill.” At my blunt stare, he uttered, “I won’t enter. Not unless you ask me to.”