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I spit. Like hell I was going anywhere. “I’m not gonna be the one to hurt Muriella’s feelings, but you go ahead if you want to.”
“You’re forcing me to.”
“You make your own decisions, my wishes be damned.”
Her jaw worked. “We don’t always get what we want. I’m living proof of that.”
“I had exactly what I wanted for about eight hours. I don’t recall having a choice about it being snatched away from me.”
“If you think cornering me into sharing a room will change anything, think again.”
I rinsed off my toothbrush, splashed my face, and dried it with a hand towel. A few droplets of water cascaded down my chest, Mulaney’s eyes following the movement with precision.
“All I wanted was a nice place to stay and maybe have some decent food. From what I hear, Muriella can cook like nobody’s business.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “If you expect me to believe any of that—”
“I don’t give a damn what you believe, Heartbreaker.”
At that, she looked chagrinned. I edged past her out of the bathroom and stopped in front of the chair where I’d abandoned my pajamas.
“You beat all,” she said.
I turned, my fly undone and gaping. Her gaze darted down, and I followed it before returning to her face with a smug expression.
“Can you do that in the bathroom?” She waved her hand around, eyes still riveted on me.
I tapped my lips. “Nope.”
She yanked her sweater over her head, turning the tables. Crimson lace. It was all I could focus on. That was the poorest excuse for a bra I’d ever seen. It supported all right, her breasts high and full, but that fabric might as well not be there. Pert nipples pointed at me.
She dropped her jeans, and all my blood went south.Thatwas the poorest excuse for underwear I’d ever seen. A scrap of matching crimson lace, which should have been described as a thong, revealed the smooth skin between her legs.
“What’s the matter? Red not your color?” she goaded, knowing damn well any lace on her suited me.
“Right now, it’s my favorite.”Eyes up, stud.I struggled to keep focused on her face, but somehow managed. “It’s been a while,” I said through my teeth. “But you know that.”
Her smug expression dropped. She shed her bra and pulled on a long-sleeved T-shirt in record time, much to my disappointment. For such a tough exterior, her delicate skin was a contradiction, one I wanted the chance to further explore.
Mulaney pulled on a pair of fuzzy Christmas socks, yet another enigma, before she jabbed her legs into a pair of sweatpants. This look was a far cry from the underwear, but if anything, I grew harder. She collected her hair and secured it on top of her head.
I couldn’t stop staring.
She punched me in the chest. “You’ve had your eyeful.”
I grabbed her by the waist, hauling her against me. “Not even close.”
I released her, and she stumbled into the bathroom. Quickly, I changed pants, forgoing a shirt.
I settled into the armchair about the time she wandered out of the bathroom, her face free of what little makeup she’d worn. Opening my legs, I patted the ottoman. She eyed me warily.
“Come here.”
Her feet moved toward me probably before her brain had a chance to think on it, and that pleased me beyond measure. Somewhere deep down, she recognized when I asked her to do something it had nothing to do with taming her and everything to do with giving her reprieve.
She settled between my legs, which I closed to cocoon her. I pulled the elastic from her hair.
“I just put that up,” she protested.
