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I glanced around for my clothes, which were thrown beside the bed. I shifted and pulled them on quickly before getting out to investigate the sound. And by that, I meant pressing my ears against the door like a nosy nelly.
Yes, he was definitely showering. And those were definitely men’s boots, a size fourteen. I could smell him on them, a dangerously spicy scent.
“He likes black,” I murmured to myself, remembering how he was dressed in all black yesterday. Talking to myself was how I sometimes made sense of the complete concept. “And he’s showering. He didn’t leave yet, which means he’s not in a hurry.”
But what did that mean? Maybe it meant he…wanted to stick around until the morning? Or meet me and have a conversation? Not that he exactly wanted to start a relationship or anything. I wasn’t that delusional…but maybe grab a cup of coffee? Perhaps we could be friends.
Yeah, right.I toldmyself to stop being such a romantic, but I couldn’t deny the hint of butterflies at the thought. I made my way back to the bed so he didn’t see me standing over his clothes like a creep. For a few seconds, I debated whether to pretend to be asleep or remain awake but decided on the latter. If he wanted to talk to me, then I definitely wanted to talk to him too.
I waited somewhat impatiently, and my heart started beating fast when I heard the shower turn off. I gave him a few extra seconds to…I don’t know…wash his face or brush his teeth or something.
And then, finally, the door opened, and he walked out.
The first thing I noticed was his nicely-defined chest because it was right in my line of sight. He wasn’t wearing a shirt yet, instead holding it in his hand, and boy, was he ripped. His chest was broad and strong, with a dusting of dark hair on it. It led down a tapered abdomen to thighs covered in black leather. I squinted at the light, puckered marks I saw on his chest.
I frowned when I saw them. Those looked like scars. I didn’t see them before.
“How did you get those—” The words died on my lips when I looked up at his face.
It was the most horrifying realization of my life.
Perhaps I could tell myself that I was mistaken if it was only his hair I recognized. Or his jaw that could cut through wood or those harsh lips that were split by another scar.
Perhaps I could tell myself that multiple people had those features, and I was mistaken. It was a long time since I’d seenhim, so maybe I was just seeing something that wasn’t there.
But those panther eyes? Cat-like slanted evil-looking eyes of a brown that was so light they could have been yellow…
There was no way I was mistaking those eyes.
They belonged to Zane Kazan.
A man who was as dangerous as they came.
The man I hated most in the world.
My sister’s husband.
Well, ex-husband. I guess it would be hard to have a husband now that she was dead.
Zane’s expression didn’t change as he watched me, but then again, it never did. Nothing surprised Zane. Nothing made him happy or angry. He was simply a cold statue of a man who was only known for how many fucks he didn’t give.
And I’d just slept with him. I had what I thought was amazing, mind-blowing sex with him.
God, what a blasphemous thought.
I had no idea how long I sat there staring at him with my mouth dropped open. I think my mind shut down completely, and my brain was refusing to compute anything that was happening. I couldn’t say anything, could barely breathe through the shock. Time slowed as we stared at each other, and then he grabbed his shoes and went back into the bathroom.
“I guess he’s putting them on,” I said to myself.
My voice sounded odd, far away. Light. I didn’t know if the sheer horror of what I had done affected my voice or hearing.
He was back out in no time at all, completely clothed in black jeans, a black shirt, and his leather jacket. Then, he grabbed his wallet from the hamper and finally walked toward me. His eyes snagged mine. My heart thumped in fear, and adrenaline had me gripping the blanket. Move. Run. Escape.
But he didn’t touch me, and neither did he say anything. He simply pulled out a few hundred dollar bills and tossed them on the table. Then, without another word, he left.
* * *
“I’m home,”I announced, pushing the door open wearily.
