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Flicking on the faucet, I snap off my bra and step under the flow to shower in ice cold water, shivering as the water sprays over my face and my body. Goose pimples race all over my skin. The water is too cold, I've got a brain-freeze headache, but I don't care. It feels clean.
I wash with a bar of lime colored soap that smells strong of mint, using my hands and fingernails. My ass stings against the soap, but the cold water is numbing. The soap dries out my hair as I lather, making the strands feel a little wiry, but there's no shampoo or conditioner in here.
I briefly wonder if Charlie pre-planned bartering me. He doesn't seem prepared—or, maybe he is. Maybe he just won't offer me luxuries like Maksim does.
That wouldn't surprise me.
When I'm done, I can only find a small hand towel in the bathroom—definitely unprepared. I dry myself as best as I can, patting my hair. There's a toothbrush and some toothpaste on the vanity sink under a long mirror, so I brush my teeth and go back into the bedroom to dress.
I'm grateful for the clothes, given it's a little chilly in this big room. I don't put on the bra or the thong. They're so... trashy. They're not me. I wear sports bras and comfortable pants, not this crap. My breasts aren't that big anyhow, so going braless won't matter.
The jumper is made from cashmere. It's so soft. I hug my middle, missing home a little more. Now, if I were at home, I'd be making myself a coffee, casting my eyes out over London until Maksim calls for me or text's to say I can have the day to myself. Here, I don't know what the day has in store for me. More sexual infringement? A beating? That is what men likehimenjoy, as far as I know.
I'll take a beating any day of the week. At least I know how to feel about that. I'm in emotional limbo when it comes to what happened last night.
My usually sleek red hair is damp and heavy around my shoulders and my waist. I notice it's frizzy, too, seeing my pale, freckly reflection in the bedroom window—I don't even recall walking over here. I'm in such a weird place mentally.
I comb out the damp kinks in my hair with my fingers.
Where is my hair tie?
I glance over the messy bed behind me but I remember; I let my hair down last night.
The bedroom door clicks open then, and closed.
I go cold on the spot.
12
Turning my head, I look at Charlie by the door. It's suddenly like there's no air in the room.
He's wearing dark blue jeans over black boots and a black jumper much like mine, his muscles clearly defined under the soft material. I remember the weight of his hard body on mine... the musky scent of his skin... the way he kissed me...
My lungs are so tight.
His eyes are striking blue against the sunshine, against his tanned skin, though they're black in the corners, I assume from taking a punch from me.
“Morning, Blaire.” A sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
His ink black hair is a little chaotic, curling around his neck and face, but annoyingly sexy. I'd love to rip his hair out. I'd love to rip out my own hair for responding to him this way... feeling flustered at the sight of him.
I don't say anything. I'm just looking at him, trying not to think of last night. If I do, I'm not sure what I'll do to him—I don't trust myself right now. I don't trust that I won't hit him, or worse... kiss him.
I can't stomach this. I've never not trusted myself.
Charlie proffers a steaming cup, his eyes trained on mine. “I'm told you like coffee in the morning.”
I wonder again, just for a split second, if he is using me to get back at Maksim. One day I'll ask him, when the time is right and I'm not terrified that he might say yes.
“I'm not really interested in coffee, Charlie.”
“No?” He smiles at me, mischief flashing in his eyes. “What are you interested in then?”
I arch a brow at him, suddenly so angry I could murder him. “Are you going to do that to me every night for three fucking months?”
“Do you want me to?” He's deadly serious and a little amused.
“Eh... no, I don't want you to.” My expression is hard like stone.
