A miniscule towel.
Shaking my head, I grab the handle before taking a wide step around her to get to the water cutoff valve. “You should get dressed.”
“I’m getting in the shower as soon as you fix that,” she says, and then her voice turns teasing. “Besides…all my good parts are covered.”
Gritting my teeth, I don’t respond to her provocation. After shutting the water off, I move back to the faucet to look at what the issue is. It takes only a moment to see a long screw that had held the faucet on had broken and is an easy fix.
If I had a long screw, which I don’t.
“You’re going to have to use Brooke’s bathroom—” I say as I turn to look at her, but I’m stunned silent, my words sticking in my throat.
Nanette stands there before me stark-ass naked, the towel pooled around her feet.
“Bishop,” she purrs in a throaty voice, dragging her fingertip from the base of her throat down between her breasts. “Let’s have some fun.”
My eyes stay focused on her face, although I can see enough out of my periphery to know she’s got a great body. But it’s her expression I’m interested in right now, and it tells me everything I need to know.
Calculation.
Cunning.
Malice.
She’s doing this to hurt Brooke and for no other reason.
“What in the fuck is your problem?” I snarl at her as I bend over, snatching the towel off the floor. I fling it at her, and it catches her in the face and chest. I get only a glimpse of wide, startled eyes as she pulls the towel away.
But I’ve turned on my heel and I’m getting the fuck out of Dodge.
I make it no more than halfway down the hallway before Nanette is pushing past me—still naked—and then turning to plant herself in my path. She actually tries to launch herself at me, but I simply grab on to her shoulders and hold her at arm’s length. She puts on a sultry expression, pursing her lips in a pout. “Come on, Bishop. What man would turn this down? I’ll let you do anything you want. Let you use me however you want.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you are tripping, bitch,” I growl as I turn her, keeping my arms locked and her at a safe distance. I let her go and continue my escape to the front door. I make it halfway through the living room before something hits me in my back and thuds on the floor. It catches my shoulder blade and hurts like a motherfucker.
“Goddamn it,” I roar as I spin back toward Nanette, glimpsing a copper vase at my feet that Brooke had on her TV stand. My eyes cut to Nanette and she has her arm cocked back, getting ready to throw a bookend that looks to be made of something a lot heavier than copper.
I brace and watch her. She lets it fly and she’s got good fucking aim. It comes straight at my head, but I easily manage to sidestep it, and it hits Brooke’s wall behind me so hard it puts a hole in it.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I bellow as she turns to find something else to throw. I’m sick of this shit. I rush her, covering the living room in two big strides, and before she can grasp a ceramic fish figurine, I grab her wrist. Twisting it up and behind her back, I ignore the little yelp of surprise and spin her toward the adjacent wall. I walk her into it and press her up against it so she can’t move, one hand holding her wrist behind her back and the other lightly but firmly holding her by the scruff of her neck. Her chest is heaving and she starts throwing curses at me in an endless rant, and I swear I think she might actually be crazy.
“What is your problem?” I repeat.
“Your fucking bitch girlfriend is my problem,” she spits out, and tries to struggle loose. I pull her wrist up a bit and she goes deadly still so as not to cause herself pain.
“What in the hell did Brooke do to you?” I’m absolutely confused. I thought they were getting along better, and while I was skeptical of her change, I was hopeful.
Apparently my judgment is better than Brooke’s on this issue.
“She’s always taking what I want. She got the job I wanted in New York, and now here. And that cocksucker Sebastian is going to be fucking sorry about that too. She has the hot hockey star, and the great house, and I fucking want what’s mine. I want a piece of this too.”
“You are one demented woman,” I mutter as I pull her away from the wall and walk her back to the guest bedroom she was staying in. I give her a tiny push as I release her and she stumbles a few feet before turning to face me. Her chin lifts and she sticks her chest out, all in defiance and not with any sexual meaning at this point.