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Matt ignored her shocked outrage as he crossed to the bathroom, where he wet a washcloth with warm water before reaching beneath the sink to grab the first aid kit.
Liza was still standing next to the bed—in her jeans—when he returned, her hands on her hips. “Listen, Matt—” she started, but he cut her off.
“Your jeans are still on, Liza,” he said impatiently. From her flushed cheeks, he knew exactly how she was interpreting his request. Clearly, she hadn’t seen the kit in his hands, or if she had, she hadn’t managed to register his intent.
“And they’re staying that way. While I appreciate you offering to help me get to Hawaii, there’s no way?—”
Matt held up the first aid kit. “Your knee is dirty. I can see bits of gravel in it from here. We need to clean it before it gets infected.”
“Oh.” She quickly shut her mouth, flushing slightly now that she realized he wasn’t propositioning her.
Or at least, he let her think he wasn’t.
She held out her hands for the kit and washcloth. “I can clean it.”
Matt held them away from her. “You had plenty of opportunities to do this yourself and you failed to take any of them. So now, I’m doing it.”
He’d been annoyed at the Initiative offices when she’d explained her injury. He’d nearly lost his shit at the thought of her changing a tire on the side of the highway. She could have been struck by a car, could have been killed. Then she’d ignored her injured knee, bypassing God only knew how many restrooms at the airport. And while he understood she’d been trying to catch a flight initially, that didn’t account for the ones she’d passed on the way out of the airport after she’d missed it.
Liza hadn’t done a very good job taking care of herself today, so he was taking over.
“Matt,” she said again, this time quieter, perhaps a bit uncertain.
“There’s no need to be shy. There’s nothing under those jeans I haven’t seen before. Up close and personal.”
His words struck the way he expected, Liza’s temper flaring. He didn’t have a clue what it said about him but seeing her outraged like this had his dick growing hard. Those brown eyes of hers—flashing fire—were a serious turn-on.
“And there’s nothing under these jeans you’ll ever see again,” she insisted, her voice loud. “We’re going for professionalism, remember?”
He fought not to grin as she threw that back in his face. She obviously didn’t like the way they’d ended things last time. Good. That would only make it easier for him when he told her that ship had sailed.
Matt placed the washcloth and first aid kit on the dresser, stepping in front of her. “You can take them off yourself, or I can do it for you. Choose. Now.”
Her anger wavered in the face of his threat…just as he expected. Because he had come to learn there was a hierarchy when it came to Liza’s emotions. Anger fell just a little lower on the list…right under her desire to submit.
Matt spent the past three weeks considering this trip to Hawaii and how he planned to change the rules. He’d allowed himself to get mired in dark thoughts in the month following the Snowflake Gala, and it had left him acting out of character, forgetting who he was at heart. He’d let his grip slip, convincing himself that the best way forward was to keep Liza out of the picture.
That had been a fool’s errand because his attraction to her had burrowed deep under his skin.
So it was time to revert back to the man he was deep down inside. In all things, business and personal, Matt was always in control.
He was a Russo, for God’s sake. He’d been raised to take what he wanted and offer no apologies for it.
He wasn’t the type of man who denied himself pleasure. Why would he? He could afford the best—private jets, luxurious suites, expensive wine and food—so denying himself Liza had gone against every single instinct he possessed.
The second he’d realized that, his eyes had been opened, and he’d decided that he didn’t have to push Liza away. He just had to control the situation. Set parameters. Find a way to make sure they kept emotions out of it.
“Liza.” He reached out, intent on ripping the dirty denim off her with his bare hands.
“Fine,” Liza replied hastily, through gritted teeth, as she put a few feet between them. She backed up toward the bed and unfastened her jeans. The confidence she’d revealed the night of the gala returned full force as she kept her chin up, toeing off her flats, then taking off her jeans.
Matt didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t looking.
She smirked.
“Take a good long look because this is the last time you’re going to see this particular view.”
He was tempted to fuck that snarky tone right out of her—with his dick in her mouth.
