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I glanced down at the fabric tote over my shoulder. “Your sister’s clothes. They’re all clean.”
His gaze was fixed on me, his dark brows furrowed. I noticed how his eyes were a curious combination of green and hazel—neither one colour nor the other. He took the bag and tossed it to one side without even checking the contents.
He jerked his chin at me. “Raise your arms.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I want to make sure you’re not armed.”
The thought had never even occurred to me. “Why would I be armed?”
“Your father could be using you.”
I blinked. “Using me?”
“To finally put an end to the Wynter family.”
My jaw dropped. “You think I might have come here to shoot you?”
“I’ve given you access to a place no other Gilligan would be allowed. If you’d gone home to your father and brothers and told them what happened last night, they might have decided to use it to their advantage. Now, put your hands up.”
He spoke in a tone that wasn’t to be disobeyed.
I slowly raised my hands above my head. He stepped in closer, shortening the already small space between us to mere inches. I drew a breath, my skin tingling. The scent of whatever gel he’d used in the shower filled my senses, and I resisted the urge to lean in and press my nose and lips to the side of his neck.
He started under my armpits, felt around my back, then returned to my front and under my breasts, cupping each one as though weighing it. I half expected him to brush my nipples over my dress and I already knew that if he did that, they’d harden for him, the points poking through the material.
“Watch it,” I snapped.
The corner of his lips curled in a devilish smile.
He ran his hands lower, over my stomach and hips, around to my bottom. I drew a sharp breath as his hands reached between my legs, his warm palms cupping the skin of my inner thighs. The proximity of his fingers to my pussy was impossible to ignore, and heat gathered low in my belly. I felt myself grow slick. Jesus. Was I this desperate that all it took was for a man’s hands to be near my thighs to have me practically stripping off my knickers and throwing them at him?
“I don’t have a gun!” I squeaked.
He’d ducked low, so I was looking at the top of his head and his thick, mahogany hair. His face was level with my stomach, and I pictured myself lacing my fingers at the back of his head and pushing him even lower.
“I have to be sure,” he said, his fingers still trailing the inside of my thighs.
We both knew perfectly well that if I’d been wearing a leg halter he’d have felt it by now.
I stiffened, my body as taut as an elastic band.
“You could have got your man downstairs to do this,” I blurted. “Wouldn’t that have been safer? I mean, if I’d really planned to shoot you, I’d have done it already, wouldn’t I? The lift door would have opened, and I’d have just shot. I wouldn’t give you the time to pat me down.”
He grinned up at me, and I smacked his hand away. “Arsehole. You never thought I was going to shoot you.”
He straightened “Your family would never ask you to dirty your hands like that.”
I pursed my lips. He was right. They wouldn’t.
“You’ve got your sister’s clothes back,” I said. “If I can get my shoes, I’ll be going.”
He eyed me curiously. “Is that all you came here for?”
My cheeks heated. “Yes. What else would I be here for?”
He studied my face, and I felt myself shrink. Why had I come here? Because he’d made me feel safe, away from my family for the first time. Because I couldn’t breathe around them, and I couldn’t breathe around him either, but in a completely different way.
