The Brit

“Help yourself.” He sweeps his hand out toward the stall. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy.”

If only to prove a point, I shrug off the robe, dropping it at his feet, before I step into the shower and turn it on. The water is cold. Good. I need something to shock me back to life.

“I have a dinner meeting this evening.” He pulls down the seat of the toilet and lowers himself, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches me wetting my hair. “You’re coming.”

“Perry?” I ask, more dread falling. I don’t think I can handle another spectacle like our romantic dinner in Vegas. And now I know Nox is lurking in the shadows, hiding my desire is paramount.

“Not Adams.” He smiles when I exhale my relief, standing and walking out of the bathroom. I watch his back disappear on a small frown, and moments later, he’s back, a bag in his hand. Placing it on the vanity unit, he pulls out a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, followed by some shower gel. “As much as I like you smelling of me, I thought maybe you’d prefer something more feminine.” He approaches the stall and sets the bottles on the shelf in the shower. “Be ready for seven.” Plunging his hand into my wet hair, he hauls me forward until our faces are close. “Use plenty of the shower gel,” he whispers. “I can smell fear on you too.” He drops me and leaves, and I have no choice but to sink to my knees when my wobbly legs give, my breathing erratic and strained. He sees me. Has from the first time our eyes locked. And he’s right. I am scared. I’m scared of my attraction toward him.

* * *

After finally convincing my legs to work, I shower and wash my hair using the products he left. All rose scented. As I’m drying my hair in the mirror, I realize I have nothing to wear. I haven’t seen the silver dress since I took it off in his Vegas hotel suite, and the jeans and shirt I’ve been wearing are hardly suitable for dinner.

Placing the dryer down, I slip into the white robe and make my way out, set to go and position my problem to Danny. I make it to the door when I hear something from outside on my terrace. His voice?

Intrigued, I back up, edging toward the open glass doors. I see him through the glass panel that separates this balcony from his. He’s sitting in a large wicker chair smoking a cigarette, staring out over the garden. He’s in his boxers. Slumped back in the seat. Legs extended before him, straight and crossed at the ankles. His hair is wet and falling into his eyes. Staring is easy, and I rest my shoulder against the doorjamb. This is a side of Danny I’ve never seen. Relaxed. He looks . . . peaceful?

“I know you’re there,” he says to the garden, taking his cigarette to his lips and pulling a long drag.

I pull my robe in and step out onto the terrace, having to squint a little when the sun shines in my eyes. “I have nothing to wear.”

He casts me a sideways look as he exhales, looking me up and down. “You look good in that.”

I let my shoulders drop. “You want to take me out in this?”

“I’m not taking you out. You’re accompanying me.”

“Whatever,” I snap. “I’m sure you’ll want me to wear clothes.”

He flicks some ash in a tall ashtray next to his chair. “You sure about that?”

My head tilts, my lips purse. “After your performance in your suite’s office in Vegas in front of your men, yes. Yes, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to parade me around naked.”

His jaw instantly tightens, and I find a smile creeping up on me. Power. I feel powerful all of a sudden. Pushing himself up from his chair, Danny wanders over to the glass panel and takes another pull of his cigarette. “There are clothes for you in the wardrobe.”

I withdraw in surprise, looking over my shoulder to the wall of closets. He bought me more clothes? Do I thank him? I’m pondering that question for far too long, but just as I decide that some appreciation wouldn’t hurt, a woman walks out of his bedroom pulling on one of his shirts. My words of thanks shoot to the back of my throat with an inhale and nearly choke me, and my reaction forces Danny to glance over his shoulder to what has my attention.

The woman is taking me in, looking me up and down, her pretty face curious. She’s not a natural blonde, but, of course, she’s gorgeous. I rip my bitchy eyes away from her and find Danny poorly concealing a sly grin. So he walked out of my bathroom with a solid cock and had himself relieved by someone else? This woman here? Why? Why not me? And why the fuck am I injured by that?