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“I’ve known a few assholes.”
Without another word, he opens the door, letting the gun lead the way, and when his hand rests against my hip, drawing me behind him, almost protectively, the jokes no longer hold any merit.
Not bothering to turn on the light, he performs a quick sweep of the rooms, keeping me at his back at all times, while my eyes strain to take in the obscure surroundings. When it seems safe for him to do so, he flips on the light, and I’m greeted by a magnificent living room and kitchen that could easily be found in any New York high rise.
Assuming I’ve ever set foot inside a high rise, before, which I haven’t.
Or New York, for that matter.
Gaze drinking in the luxury and simple, but posh, decor, I run a finger over what I’m certain is granite countertops, suddenly feeling like a bum off the streets.
“Pretty fancy for a boat. I’m surprised it stays afloat with all this heavy stuff.”
“It’s called buoyancy. One of those crazy phenomena, like gravity. And indoor showers.” After loosening his tie, he slips out of his suit coat and drapes it over a nearby chair.
I hate that my eyes shoot directly to the bulging line of muscle in his sleeves. “Speaking of which, can I use yours? I’m just going on assumptions here, seeing as you have a sixty-inch TV mounted to the wall, that you didn’t skimp out on indoor plumbing.”
“Yes, I have a shower. And yes, I insist you use it.”
“You have a really dry and exceptionally rude demeanor, Thierry. No wonder you can’t get a girl to come home with you.”
With a slight groan, he snaps his fingers for me to follow, and with a bit of hesitation, due to the dog reference, I reluctantly trail after him to the bathroom. “You’ll not so much as set foot on my furniture until you’ve showered. Clear?”
“Crystal.” Asshole. “You’re one of those germaphobes, right? Doesn’t share a spoon, or toothbrush?”
He bristles at that and crouches in front of me, offering a view of muscled shoulders and the expanse of his broad back, while he reaches for something from beneath the sink. “Here.” Still encased in its packaging, the brand-new toothbrush he tosses onto the counter is yellow, while the one hanging from some glowing metal contraption mounted to his wall is blue. “Refrain from using mine.”
“Why do I have to have yellow? Because I’m a girl?”
“Because I don’t give a shit what color it is, so long as it isn’t mine.”
“And what’s that mini spaceship thing where you’ve stored yours?”
“It’s a sanitizing unit. Ultraviolet light kills the bacteria.”
“So, it doesn’t matter if I used yours. It kills all my germs, anyway.”
Resting his hand on the countertop, he leans in until towering over me. All jokes choke at the back of my throat at the reminder of how imposing this man is. “Don’t test me, sunshine. I’ve little time, or patience, for bullshit.”
Sunshine.
My father used to call me that as a child.
I don’t even realize I’ve stared off, frowning, until he tips his head, dragging my attention back.
“What is it?” The intensity, when he appraises me, reminds me of standing on the edge of a forest trying to see past all the darkness.
“What?”
“Never mind. Are you hungry, at all?”
“What is it? Two in the morning? No.”
“Good. Then, I’ll get your sleeping arrangement settled.”
Sleeping arrangement. Forget the massive king-sized bed, this guy will probably have me sleep on the couch, or the floor, so I don’t crinkle the Italian leather. Selfish is written all over his face in big fat glaring letters. In fact, I’d be willing to bet he’s the kind of guy who cringes at the thought of going down on a woman, but insists on blowjobs.
“Any chance you have an extra pink, or yellow, razor to match my girly toothbrush?”
