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For a second, I hold out hope that it’s Jorden, here to provide backup.
But it’s not Jorden.
It’s not Jorden at all.
5
IVAN
It’d be a mistake to call her the girl in the green dress—mostly because she’s notinthe green dress anymore. It’s puddled around her feet and she’s not wearing a stitch of anything. Just high heels and nipple covers.
I close the door behind me. “No one is supposed to be in here.”
“I’m hiding,” she blurts, trying her best to cover herself up, not that it does much good. I’d have to be Mother fucking Teresa to keep my eyes off of her body.
Fucking hell, she’s stunning.
I swallow down the rush of desire. “Stripping, hiding, I don’t give a shit what you call it—but you can’t do it here.”
She levels me with a glare that rivals the one she gave the Greek mutt outside. “And who are you? Security?”
“You must be joking.”
She doesn’t know who I am? I call bullshit. Everyone here knows who I am.
She’s blushing from head to toe—I can see every inch of flushed skin—but she doesn’t shy away. “So, not security, then? Probably some trust fund baby who thinks you own every room you walk into.”
“Big words from someone skulking through a stranger’s house naked.”
“Hiding!” she yelps again. “And believe me, I would give anything to be clothed right now. Preferably in sweatpants and a hoodie with a parka on top, but beggars can’t be choosers. I’d accept that strappy, skin-tight monstrosity on the ground right now if it would justcooperate.”
She hates this party, she doesn’t know who I am, and instead of bragging to me about who designed her ruined dress, she’s longing for sweats.
She can’t be real.
A breeze blows through the open doors and the woman in front of me shivers. Before I can second-guess the instinct, I shrug out of my jacket.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
Good question. It might be the first time in my life I’ve voluntarily asked a woman to put onmoreclothes.
Her eyes are wide and shockingly green as she shrinks away from me. Like a dog that’s been kicked so many times it’s sure that the only thing the future could hold is more pain.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” I dangle my jacket in the air between us. “Take it or leave it.”
She watches me warily for another long breath before she lunges for the jacket and slips it on.
Her skin disappears beneath the long sleeves and broad shoulders. The jacket absolutely swallows her, but I’m not laughing. Somehow, the image of her swimming in my jacket is even more tantalizing than her taut, naked skin.
She tucks the material around her middle and crosses her arms to secure it. “Thanks. For a second, I thought you were going to parade me out of here naked as punishment.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Don’t threaten me,” she retorts.
“Don’t act like it would be all bad. You’d be the center of attention.”
“Don’t act like all women want the same thing.”
