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Stroking a hair strand behind my ear, I murmur, “What’s that look?”
He shrugs, grabbing a towel and swipes it around his hips, “You’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” I ask, doing my best to not let my eyes wander far down, though I can’t help it. I mean, he’s pretty extra and when he wraps his towel around his hips, I die a little in disappointment.
“That you’d take my money over me,” he says and I sense an edge to his voice and my cheeks heat.
“You took me by surprise,” I say coyly. “You could have at least given me some time to think.”
He scowls, snorting, “The best decisions are made in the heat of the moment.” He looks me up and down and his voice feels like a stroking when he says, “Would you have chosen differently?”
I shake my head. “Nope. You were worth it. I would have chosen the same all over again.” Then I cross my arms, noticing something. “Where’s my towel?”
“You’re not getting one,” Blaise jests with a smirk, “I assure you, you look better without it.”
“How about we compromise?” I suggest. “Give one to me and I promise to drop it whenever you tell me to?”
His eyes flare and his hand slowly goes to the shelf and then he hands it to me. “With that I can agree.”
I wrap myself in the fluffiness, surprised by how soft it is but then I sigh. Typical, rich people. Everything in their world is better.
Going from the steamy bathroom to the coldness of the hallway, gives me goosebumps and I throw a look over my shoulder, only to see Blaise eyes fixed on me, like he’s trying to get me engaged in a staring contest or something.
I was wrong about him though. He’s not aloof or cold, well not all the time at least but the contrast is pretty damn addictive.
“Your bump is so big,” I say, looking around at the creamy, white interior with dark grey furniture’s. The windows that are too good for curtains are facing an opera and you can even see the stage from here. And he’s got the cutest little balcony that would be perfect for sunbathing.
A flare of insecurity tinges Blaise’s eyes. “My bump?” He says with a knot between his brows, anxiously stroking his abs and I nod.
“I know you call apartments flats, so I like to call them bumps.”
His jaw slacks right before he starts laughing. Somehow, he still manages to look stoic while doing it. The only time he loosens his control is apparently when we’re being naughty and my belly clenches because right now I don’t see how I’ll ever be able to get enough of him.
“You’re very confusing Miss. Crich...Zerena,” he says with warmth in his voice and from now on I want to bathe in that warmth every day. “But that’s what I like about you.”
Inwardly I shudder, because while I still feel like a snowflake in Blaise’s closeness I don’t feel like I’m heading for my own potential destruction. Instead I feel special.
And I realize he’s making me feel the way my aunt Miriam always said a good man should. Hiding my smile, I turn my back to him and something catches my attention on one of the shelves in the living room and I squeal,
“Aww, is that you?” I ask, shuffling over the oriental carpet and I look at the row of photos. There’s one of him where he’s younger wearing blue pants, a red sweater and holding a football.
Blaise goes over to stand next me and my fingers curl from wanting to dig them into his pecs. Or buttocks that I know now firsthand is indeed hard as steel. But it’s clear that they didn’t used to be like that always.
Sniggering, I tease, “You used to be so chubby!” And I put a hand over my mouth when a ruddy tint floods Blaise’s face. I wouldn’t exactly call him adorable, but he can be pretty charming.
He glares at me like I’m being ridiculous. “The extra padding was necessary for rugby,” he claims gruffly and I grin,
“Aha, sure. But now I get why you always order low fat milk!”
Crossing his arms, he’s about to give me a biting answer when his phone calls.
“I need to take that,” he says, then warns, “Do not get dressed, I’m not done with you.”
My cheeks heat. “I’ll just stay naked here then...” I breathe and once he’s out of the room I turn to the photos again. There’s one of a couple who have to be his parents, another one of him at his graduation and then there’s another one where he is standing next to an elderly man and they’re holding up a golden frame.
It seems to be some kind of an award and I look closer, distinguishing the textDraconis Pipelines.
Wait, pipelines? Pipelines? Freaking pipelines that drill oil out of the beautiful big, blue!
