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I clamped my thighs together, trying to block out the imagery of him over me. Okay, there had been one teeny-tiny sex dream.
Honestly, it wasn't my fault. I was clearly overtired, and well, he was hot. Very hot. And to be fair, I have functioning eyeballs. I might not like him or the fact that he worked for my father, and I was stuck with him, but for some reason, there was a very primal part of me that responded to him. Every accidental brush, every touch, every slide of his gaze over my body, pulled something low in my belly. I wasn't immune, and honestly, it wasn't my fault. Who would be immune to that?
Maybe someone who doesn't have a death wish?
He was that kind of bloke. The kind that was all trouble.
Stop thinking about him. Get up. You could use a workout yourself. Maybe if you go run you won't have inappropriate dreams about your bodyguard.
Fine. There was no way I could go back to sleep anyway, not with Mr. Groanypants out there moaning. He did it again, and I dragged the duvet over my head.
Ah, goddamn it. I could almost picture him, his hair wet, his body damp with sweat, his muscles bunching as he moved over me with a cocky smirk on his face as he looked down at our bodies to watch himself fucking me. Fuck, that was hot.
With a curse, I dragged the duvet and pillow off my face. "Bollocks."
Obviously, I wasn't getting any more sleep, thanks to him. I stood and went over to use the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and washed the sleep out of my eyes. If I was up, I might as well do something useful with the early-arse hour.
I dragged my favorite workout top on. It was screen-printed with I know how to drive a stick and a picture of a woman on a broomstick riding off into the sunset. It was cropped and hung over one shoulder. It was also threadbare, but I loved it and was not giving it up no matter how worn out it was getting. I'd thrown on a pair of capri-length workout pants, socks, and my trainers. It was embarrassing how long it took to find them at the back of my closet, but find them I did. I tugged off my satin scarf before pulling my workout headband over my straightened hair. If I was lucky with the rain, I might be able to go another few days before I had to straighten it again.
Once my headband was in place, I pulled my ponytail high up on top of my head and made it into a bun. I wanted to make sure not a drop of moisture snuck through.
The weather was definitely about to turn rainy, so eventually I would have to go back to braids. But I liked my hair loose. I rarely wore it straight. It was usually either natural or in some kind of protective style.
When I was dressed, I gave myself a once-over in my full-length mirror and shrugged. The capris were arse-huggers, and well, I had arse in spades. If he was going to insist on following me, at least I could torture him a little.
I yanked open my bedroom door, and the onslaught of water was gasp-inducingly frigid. "What the fuck?"
I was pelted with massive sprays of water, until finally it stopped, but not before I was drenched from head to bloody knees. My trainers were spared, but the rest of me was not, including my hair. When I peeled my eyes open, all I could do was stand there as my heart galloped, trying to break free from my chest, sure that there was some kind of water-propelling monster or burglar in my flat.
All I heard was Westin's low chuckle coming from the living room to the right of my door.
When I blinked the water out of my eyes, I saw some kind of water gun rig, complete with a catapult device for water balloons. “What the fuck? Are you responsible for this?" I stomped out into the living room to find him doing a plank. He lifted his head slowly and flashed a grin at me. When his gaze met mine, his eyes went wide and he fell out of his plank onto the ground and rolled over guffawing. "You look like a drowned rat."
"I swear to God, I will kill you." I launched myself at him, not caring if we both got hurt. He was going to die today. "What the bloody hell did you do that for?"
To my chagrin, he caught me easily, rolling me over and pinning me down with his weight.
Unable to budge him, I still fought, my hands balled up into fists. I managed one whack on his face. Then with a growl, he snatched both my fists with one of his massive hands and drew my arms up over my head.
Not to be thwarted, I tried to buck him off me, and I could feel… Oh God, he was hard. The thick length of his erection pressed like steel against my stomach, and I knew I should stop moving. I fucking knew, but I was just so angry.
His command was a sharp bark. "Enough."
"Fuck you."
He grinned. "I know you'd like that, but that's not why I'm here."
Which only made me fight harder. The one thing that his words couldn't do was accomplished by his chuckle.
If I hadn't been so angry, I would have noted that it was mellow, like a really good brandy with a hint of sweetness on the edges. I stopped struggling then. "Let me go."
"Not until you understand that if you want to sneak around and play, we can. I play to win though, as you can see. And look, I made you wet."
My mouth hung open. I couldn't believe he just said that. "What?" My question sounded throaty and breathy, like I was turned on.
Well, you are.
The point was, he did not need to know that.
