Trashed (Stripped 2)
Page 13He’s inching closer to me, hands outstretched, daring to reach for me after what just happened. He takes my shirt from me, and he is now standing chest to chest with me, and his eyes are palest green and knowing and kind and fierce and sharp and intelligent.
“Des. Hear me. I’m a man who speaks the truth, no matter the consequences. So here’s some truth for you.” His palm fits against my cheek, and his fingers tilt my face up so I’m looking at him, our lips kissing distance apart. “I’m intrigued by you. You’re fascinating. I can’t figure you out, and I like that. You’re not impressed by who I am, and I like that even more. You’re so drop-dead fucking gorgeous that I can’t stand it. You’re so sexy it’s not even right.”
I can’t move, can’t breathe. No one has ever called me beautiful before, much less gorgeous or sexy. More frighteningly, he seems to mean it. I want to pull away and run before I give in, but I’m not moving and I’m already giving in.
He’s not done, though. “And yeah, I’m only here for the weekend. And you’re not no one. You’re you. And I like you—what I’ve seen so far. I promised you I wouldn’t ask you any questions, and I won’t. But I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me a few things about you on your own. Whatever this is, whatever it is that’s happening between us, I want it. Whether it’s just for tonight or tomorrow too, or something beyond that, I want it. So I’m going to go with it.” His other hand moves possessively and with intimate familiarity to the small of my back, holding me in place. “You’re scared. I can see that. I don’t know why, and I’m not going to ask because I promised I wouldn’t. But you can tell me the truth, whatever it is. If you really want to leave, I’ll take you back myself, or I’ll get you a carriage back to your dorm. But I don’t want you to leave. I hope you’ll stay.”
“Adam…I just—”
He presses his thumb over my lips to silence me. “So, as much as I’d like to finish stripping you down to skin, I won’t. As much as I’d like to have you naked, right here and right now, I’m going to back away. I’m going to let you get in the shower, and I’m going to give you time to think. Decide what you want, and I’ll go with it. I’m not going to pressure you into anything. You know what I want. I’ve made it clear, I hope.”
He takes three backward steps and then stops, leans in and kisses me, hard and fast, and then turns goes into the sitting room, out of sight.
I stand trembling, confused, and half-naked in the doorway of the bathroom, steam billowing around me.
What do I want?
Fuck if I know.
Wanting me.
How is that possible?
But it seems to be true, and I have to decide what I’m going to do about it.
I peel my clothes off and step into the shower.
Chapter 4
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to remain sitting on the couch, waiting for her. I want to go into the bathroom and watch her. I want to peel my shorts off and step in the shower with her.
I want to push her up against the tiled shower wall and take her there.
Instead, I wait until I hear the bathroom door shut, and then I grab her wet clothes off the floor and bring them to the foyer. I use the hotel phone to have the front desk send someone up to take her clothes to be dried. Once the maid has taken the clothes, with an assurance that she’ll have them back in less than half an hour, I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio sent up, along with an order of chips and salsa.
I change into a pair of gym shorts, not bothering with underwear.
Minutes pass in taffy-slow increments, and eventually I hear the shower shut off.
“Hey! Where are my clothes?” Des’s voice rings out.
I grab a robe from the closet and stand outside the bathroom with it. Des has the door open just enough to poke her head out, and I can see a towel across her chest.
I hold up the robe. “Housekeeping is drying them for you.”
“So I’m your hostage until they’re dry, is that it?” A gleam of humor in her eyes tells me she’s not mad.
“Exactly. Half an hour, they said. Until then, wear this.” I hold the robe toward her.
She pulls the towel more tightly around her torso, and then opens the door. My eyes soak up her beauty. Her hair has been towel dried, but it’s still wet and hangs down over one bare shoulder. God, I want so badly to tug the towel away, but I don’t. Instead, I hold the robe open for her, and she turns away from me, slides one arm through the sleeve, and then the other. My throat closes as she unfastens the towel from beneath her armpits and lets it drop to the floor. And just for a moment, she’s naked and in the same room as me, but then she wraps the robe closed and ties it off and the moment is lost.
“Feel better?” I ask.
She nods, and sighs. “Yeah. A hot shower does a world of good. You’re next?”
Her big brown eyes meet mine briefly, but then flicker down over my chest and down to my shorts, and I wonder if she can tell I’m not wearing any underwear.
“So,” she repeats.
A knock on the door interrupts this eloquent and fascinating exchange, and I leave her standing in the bedroom to answer it. It’s the wine and chips, and then coming up behind the young man delivering the food is the maid with the clothes, folded and dried and placed discreetly in a white linen bag. I take the tray and set it on the counter, sign the charges to my room with a hefty tip, and then take the clothes.
When I turn back, Des is leaning a shoulder against the doorway to the steps to the sitting room, pulling a hotel-provided brush through her hair. I hold up the bag with her clothes in one hand, and the bottle of wine in the other.
“Choose,” I say.
Her eyes narrow, and she tosses the brush across the room and onto the bed. “Choose?”
I move up onto the bottom step, looking up at her. “The bag has your clothes in it. Take the bag, put on the clothes, and I’ll get you home. Go your way, I’ll go mine. Or, I open the wine and we see where things go.”