I glance at the foot of the bed. My clothes aren’t on the chest where I dropped them last night. In their place is a black T-shirt. I should have expected as much, but part of me wants to—needs to—rail at Addler. Though, all things considered, I suppose it’s better than only having a sheet wrapped around me…or nothing at all. I gulp.
Pushing back the cover, I grab the T-shirt by the seam at the shoulder, letting it unfold so I could check the length. Addler’s a big guy, so it should cover me well enough. Holding the material against me, for at least the minimum layer of modesty, I head to the bathroom, intent on grabbing a shower before venturing out to find him.
I thought the bathroom downstairs was impressive. His shower and bath combination alone is about the size of our entire bathroom at home. Feeling self-conscious, I grab a towel and hand towel from a stack he has in some cubbies built into the wall. After setting the T-shirt on the marble counter and hanging the towel, I head to the glass doors.
It takes me a few tries to figure out the knobs that control two showerheads and multiple jets sticking out of the walls. To my surprise, the water turns warm within two or three seconds. It’s a far cry from what I had to deal with yesterday morning. If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit this is nicer than any hotel I’ve ever stayed at.
I step in, feeling way out of place. Is it because it’s Addler’s that I feel this way? Because it’s his shampoo I’m working into my hair? Because it’s his bath soap I’m running across my body? And ultimately, it’s his towel, likely one he’s used in the not-so-distant past, that I’m drying myself with?
Wrapping the oversized terry cloth towel around me, I reach my next hurdle. There’s a brush on the counter, his, of course. Using it feels even more intimate than using his shower. I suppose I should be glad he doesn’t use a comb instead because it would end up stuck in my curls.
A bit of mouthwash in lieu of using his toothbrush, and I’m pulling the T-shirt over my head. The cotton is thick and a little heavy, unlike the mega-mart buys I’ve worn all my life. It covers me down to nearly mid-thigh, a length I could be comfortable in, if I had panties on underneath.
I hang the towel up to dry and pad out to the bedroom. I can’t seem to make myself go out the door, not when I could accidentally flash someone as I walk down the stairs. While Mayela was leaving for the holiday weekend, I don’t know if anyone else is supposed to be here. I didn’t even think to ask Addler until right now.
Fighting my self-consciousness, I step into his closet. The scent of wood surrounds me, something rich and masculine like Addler himself. I reach out, feeling around for the light switch as I step in. The sensor clicks and the light comes on, illuminating the room. And it would have to be called a room, because it’s far too big to be considered a closet.
How many clothes can a guy have? Suits upon suits, in numerous shades of black, blue, or gray. An array of shoes, more than everything I’ve ever owned in my life combined, are in shoe racks built into the center of the wall.Button shirts, pullovers, T-shirts, jeans, dress pants. And drawers upon drawers line one wall.
I curl my toes against the plush carpet. Where do I even begin?
Feeling like a thief wandering around someone’s home, I study the wall next to me. One of the drawers is sitting ajar. I move closer to peek into the narrow opening and find warm-ups stacked neatly inside. Perfect! I hadn’t thought about it, but it’s probably the only thing that belongs to Addler that I could use since it has a drawstring at the waist.
Pulling on the borrowed clothing, I pull and tie the drawstring. But I’m going to have to work something out for the length of the warm-ups because they’re way too long. Pulling up a leg, I set the elastic right below my knee then wiggle in place, letting the rest of the material drape down. Then I do the same with the other side. This will work.
Feeling a little more in control, I head out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me. Clutching the sturdy wooden banister, I reach the corner where Addler turned to come up behind me yesterday. If it hadn’t happened to me, I’d say it was a brilliant way to catch someone red-handed.
I turn, stepping into the kitchen, the only place I know I can go without wandering about the house. I can fix some coffee and get to work, if I don’t track him down first.
I peek over the kitchen island to find Addler sitting at the table, bare chested. My mouth goes dry, and my pulse kicks up a bit as I get closer. I got an eyeful last night, but it didn’t do him justice.
I’m suddenly self-conscious. According to the clock against the far wall, it’s midmorning. I’m just now dragging my ass downstairs with wet hair, wearing a borrowed T-shirt and sweatpants that are too big on me. I fold my arms under my breasts as I continue toward the table.
Addler notices me. He turns to look in my direction; his sharp gaze runs down my body, returning to my face with a glare of disapproval.
My stomach flip-flops, and I curl my toes into the hard tile. “Hi…”
“There’s a reason I didn’t leave you more than a T-shirt,” he says drily.
“I didn’t think you’d…” I drag in a stuttering breath. I shouldn’t have wandered into his closet. I know better.
“Take those off,” he orders, his gaze shifting to the borrowed warm-ups.
His words reverberate in my chest. “But I’m—”
“Take. Them. Off.”
There’s no saying no. That was the deal, and it extends through the rest of today and all day tomorrow. The entire weekend. And if that means me running around in nothing more than a T-shirt, it’s my cross to bear.
“If I have to go and tear them off you,” he says menacingly, “there will be consequences.”
The way he says that, consequences, while he angles his head down and glares at me, sends a shiver through me. What is he threatening? Would it be something more personal?
My breath is rushing in and out of my parted lips. Something deep inside me wants to know what those consequences would be. I contemplate running out the clock, just to see what the dark promise in his eyes would bring.
He pushes back the chair.
I spring into action, reaching for the tie at my waist. Okay, so I’m not the brave, wanton woman who’d push him to the limit. Lord, why did I tie this so tight?