Page 7

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Drew murmurs, his soapy hands gliding down my sides, palms spreading over my hips.

That tracks.

His apartment is nice. It’s clean, modern, expensive enough to impress most people. But it’s still just a downtown apartment. Not even a penthouse. It’s nothing like the world I grew up in.

I grew up in the Hills, where money isn’t measured in millions but in hundreds of millions and billions. Where there are no apartments, only sprawling estates hidden behind iron gates, staffed by more people than most families have relatives.

I must be like a rare, exotic prize to a man like him—rich, beautiful, and completely out of his league.

I tilt my head back under the hot spray, letting the water cascade over my face.

“I was voted most beautiful in my graduating class,” I say, trying to sound bored. But it’s a fact I’m quite proud of.

“Checks out,” he replies. His hands keep moving over me. “But that’s not what I meant.”

I frown.

“I meant you’re bossy as hell,” he says, a dark thread of amusement in his tone. “You walked in and started giving orders like you owned the place. Most people know better than to talk to me that way. Not you.”

I get it. He’s big, imposing, radiating that quiet, commanding kind of power most people sense instinctively. But I grew up with my father. No one intimidates me.

I turn around to face him fully, water streaming between us.

The way he said it—most people know better—lingers. I’ve spent my whole life around powerful men who expect the world to shrink in their presence. I want to know if he’s one of them…or if he’s just another downtown guy who thinks a sharp suit and a big dick make him dangerous.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask.

He lifts a brow, water sliding down the hard lines of his chest. “You won’t even tell me your name, but you want my résumé?”

I cross my arms and wait.

He sighs, the sound almost amused. “I’m a consultant.”

I have no idea what that actually means, but it sounds professional. I shrug and reach for his shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into my palm.

“You should come back after your important thing,” he says. His hands are already sliding over me again—firm, warm, thumbs brushing deliberately along the undersides of my breasts like he has every right. “We’re nowhere near finished.”

I lather shampoo into my hair. “No. Last night was a one-time thing.”

I rinse it out. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me, looking mildly confused. He probably expected me to be flattered that he wants round seven or whatever we’re up to.

I reach for the conditioner, squeezing out way more than I need. My gaze drops. He’s already hard again, the flushed head brushing against my stomach.

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you some kind of sex addict?” I ask, gesturing at his erection.

“Bit rich coming from the woman who was mounting me at three in the morning,” he shoots back. His hands settle on my hips, gripping hard enough to remind me how strong he is. “I went easy on you last night. I let you run the show.” He leans in, lips brushing my ear as hot water pours over us. “I haven’t shown you what I can really do.”

I stare at him.

That was him going easy?

Heat curls low in my stomach. I turn away quickly, focusing on working the conditioner through my hair.

“I could bend you over right here,” he murmurs against my neck. “Take you against the tile until you forget whatever you’re rushing off to.”

The image hits me hard—hands braced on wet tile, back arched, him driving into me deep and relentless from behind. But I shake my head, trying to ignore the way my body responds to that thought.

He’d need a condom anyway.