“You’re staying here.”
He jerks at the belt around his waist, giving me whiplash. The sound of leather slapping does weird things to me as he tosses it onto the bed, yet I’m too stunned to do anything but stand here.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I need to shower off the airplane.” He slips his suit jacket off and lays it carefully on the mattress. Even his direct movements do nothing to hide the frustrated beast barely restrained beneath his indifferent facade.
I stand there motionless, my brain attempting to catch up with what’s happening in front of me, but I’m as lost as before.
He releases the buttons on his cuffs, and his expert fingers begin undoing the ones down his front. Inch by inch, his tan skin is exposed, and my lips part on their own volition.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I already told you.”
“Bathroom’s over there,” I remind him, but my eyes don’t leave the smooth tan skin dusted with hair.
“I’m aware.”
“Then what are you doing?” I repeat, my voice even more breathless. More embarrassed.
Is it hot in here?
“Changing.”
“In front of me,” I point out.
“Are you telling me you haven’t been in the locker rooms?” he challenges.
“I’ve been in the locker rooms.”
“Then you’ve seen a naked chest.”
“Well, yeah. But…” My voice trails off as I find the happy trail leading to the waist of his slacks and the package not so well hidden beneath.
Holy shit is that his––
“Is there a problem, Ms. Rutherford?”
My gaze snaps back to his. “I’m curious if your girlfriend would approve of you stripping in front of me while having a hard-on.”
“I don’t have a hard-on.”
I stare at the bulge in his pants as if to say, exhibit A and bring my attention back to Buchanan’s stupidly arrogant yet indecipherable gaze.
“Maybe I’m just big,” he offers.
“Then I’d say your girlfriend’s lucky,” I quip, “if you weren’t currently talking about the size of your package while undressing in front of an employee.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I pull back, surprised. “What about Scarlett?”
Slipping his shirt off, he adds it to the carefully placed suit jacket on the bed. The guy’s half-naked, the heat from his skin warming my own. He’s so close I can touch him. I won’t. But I could. Hell, I’m pretty sure if I leaned forward another inch, my nose would drag along his chest, and I’d be given front-row tickets to his rich, earthy scent.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was cheating on me?” he demands.
I blink and lift my eyes to his. “Why would I have known your girlfriend was cheating on you?”
“Don’t play stupid, Brat.” He undoes the top button on his slacks but hesitates. “She used my card at SeaBird more times than I can count. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He’s right. I did know. I’ve known for months. The way she’d bring her boy toys to SeaBird. Dancing with them. Touching their chests or biceps. Hell, it was like foreplay. There’s a difference between innocent flirting and full-blown, I’m-sleeping-with-the-person touching. And Scarlett? She was clearly sleeping with them. Each and every one of them.
“Answer the question,” Buchanan growls.
“You really wanna know why I didn’t tell you about your girlfriend cheating on you?”
“Yes.”
“Because guys are assholes, and what Scarlett was doing was none of my business.” Even I can hear the animosity in my voice. The resentment buried deep in my bones, thanks to Shorty. But I never claimed to be unbiased when it comes to the opposite sex, and guys? Yeah. They’re assholes. Even the one in front of me.
“Am I an asshole?” he asks.
My gaze slides down his half-naked body. “You tell me,” I challenge.
Glancing at his neatly folded pile of clothes on the bed, he mutters, “I have a thing about germs…”
“A thing?” I question.
“I don’t like having my clothes in the bathroom.” He almost shivers at the prospect alone. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from showing my amusement. Who knew the guy’s kryptonite involved something so…random?
“Oh,” I murmur, unsure what else I’m supposed to say.
He scratches his jaw. “Yeah.”
“And you couldn’t have told me before I caught a glimpse of your…?” I motion to his crotch area.
“Didn’t think you would look.”
“Of course you didn’t,” I say, my tone laced with amusement. “And I wasn’t, by the way. You just threw me off a little when you started undressing.”
“I’m not used to sharing a room with other people,” he repeats.
“Not even Scarlett?”
“We understood each other’s boundaries.” He says it like I should understand them too.
I gnash my lips together before offering, “To be fair, if I knew them in the first place, I might be a little more accommodating.”
“Like right now?” He reaches for the button on top of his slacks again and waits.
“Oh.” I turn around and face the wall as the familiar sound of a zipper lowering causes my heart rate to pitch a fit. He has no idea what I’d give to turn around and see if he’s lying about his girth, but I stay strong and stare at the closed blinds across the room. A few seconds later, a quiet click greets me, and I glance over my shoulder.
He’s gone.
Into the bathroom.
And me? Well, I’m left weirdly sexually aroused and more confused than I have any right to be, considering the circumstances. Unsure what to do when I hear the shower turn on, I rock back on my heels and rub my hands up and down my arms.
That was weird, wasn’t it?
I shouldn’t read into anything. Even the fact he broke up with Scarlett has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her side pieces. So I shouldn’t care, and it definitely shouldn’t matter.
And neither should our sleeping arrangement tonight.
The bed taunts me as I stare at the crisp sheets, well aware I’ll be sharing them with a guy who’s newly single, sexy as hell, and has a weird way of getting under my skin and annoying me like no one else on the planet.
Yeah. This will be a walk in the park.
I almost roll my eyes as I head back to the desk and pull my laptop out. Might as well get some work done, and I sure as shit could use the distraction.
14
HENRY
I should have told her about my hang-up with having my clothes in the bathroom before I started stripping, but I had hoped she would take the hint and give me some privacy. Instead, Mia’s baby blues sparked with curiosity, which is the last thing I need. Not when I’m already struggling with Greer and Beck and Dawson all being interested in her.
I shouldn’t care.
I shouldn’t get involved.
And I definitely should not have noticed the way she flinched when I slammed the door.