I couldn't help myself.
"My pleasure," I replied, with a self-satisfied smirk.
His gaze darkened to dangerous depths, and I quickly moved on.
"What's your agreement with Zane?" His name burned my tongue like acid, and I swallowed heavily after saying it. That deranged piece of shit had murdered my mom, and the dirty cops of Shadow Grove had let him get away with it.
Archer gave me a small head shake. "Try again, Princess Danvers."
I sighed in frustration, not wasting my breath on any other pointless questions. He wasn't going to tell me anything useful.
"Can I see your knife?" I have no idea why I asked that, except that I wanted to see why it'd looked red in the moonlight. It was one of those odd details that my brain was tripping on. A glitch in the matrix.
One brow arched, and he gave me a curious look. "You weren't supposed to look back, Madison Kate."
I smiled, smug. "I didn't. But you see, cars have these really cool things attached to the sides, and they've got this reflective stuff that shows you what's behind the car."
His eyes narrowed. "Semantics."
I shrugged, unrepentant. "Learn to be more specific in your orders, D'Ath. So, can I see it?"
He watched me a moment longer, face impassive, before leaning forward and taking the butterfly knife from his back pocket.
"Happy?" he asked, holding it out in his flat palm for me to see. It was still folded, but I could tell I hadn't imagined things. The blade itself was a lush, deep copper-red and the handle a brushed charcoal-gray. I’d never seen a knife quite like it in my life… not that I made a habit of looking at tattooed thugs’ weapons.
I reached out to touch it, but Archer whipped it out of my reach and pocketed it again.
"Not a chance, Princess," he murmured. "Is that all? I really need to wash the stink of pathetic gangster off my skin."
I sighed. "For now, I suppose."
We exited the car, then walked through the garage to the house in strangely companionable silence. Something had shifted between us, and it wasn't totally because of that quick make-out session at Bree's party.
"You know Steele is probably jerking off in your shower, right?" Archer commented as we flipped the lights to the garage off and set the perimeter alarms.
I spluttered and laughed. "What? Why would you say that?"
He just shrugged, totally serious. "Because it's true. He will have used your shampoo or something. Then started picturing you in the shower washing your hair, then he'd be thinking about you wet and naked, covered in soap..." He arched a brow at me as he headed for the stairs. "I don't blame him; I would too."
With that fucking grenade tossed, he jogged up the stairs and left me standing there with my mouth hanging open. It was a sexy look, I was sure. Thankfully, no one was around to witness it, though, because it took me way longer than I'd have liked to find my brain again.
"What the fuck?" I whispered to myself, dumbfounded, as I slowly made my way up the stairs. I was exhausted, confused, and still had no panties on. I badly needed some pajamas and my bed.
I pushed my bedroom door open, then froze two steps into the room. Steam billowed out of my attached bathroom, thanks to the half-open door. Steele was apparently still showering and hadn't bothered closing the door properly before he got in.
Or had that been intentional?
Archer's words played in my mind, taunting me as I quietly moved across to my dresser and opened my pajamas drawer. I snatched out a comfy pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then moved up to the top drawer to grab out some panties. When I straightened up, my gaze snagged on movement in my mirror.
Fucking hell.
My mirror was positioned in such a way that it reflected the bathroom mirror when the door was open. That mirror? That one showed the tall, tanned, tattooed man in my shower.
My breath caught in my throat, and I goddamn knew I needed to look away. I knew it... but I didn't do it. I couldn't. His back was to the mirror, and I simply couldn't tear my eyes from the slick planes of his muscles. A tattoo of an angel covered his whole upper back, and it sparked questions in me. He didn't strike me as the religious type, so what did the angel represent? Who?
He shifted then, turning his body into the spray and giving me an uninterrupted view of his thick, straight shaft firmly grasped in his soapy fist. His eyes were closed, and I felt like the worst kind of pervert, but I didn't look away. I watched, unblinking, as his hand worked up and down his cock. His pace increased until he braced himself against the tiles with his free hand and came with a low groan. Semen erupted from his engorged cock, mixing with the running water and disappearing instantly.
My mouth watered, and my cunt clenched with desire, but still I couldn't look away. His inked chest was rising and falling heavily, and I watched while he rinsed himself off again—using my body wash—then ducked his head under the spray.
That should have been my cue to leave, but I was damn near rooted to the spot, frozen there with crippling arousal. Maybe I was scared that if I moved, I'd come from the friction of walking. Who knew? Regardless, a second later, his eyes flickered open and met mine dead on in the mirror—like he knew I'd been there all along.
"Fuck!" In my haste to pretend I hadn't just watched him jerking off in the shower, I slammed my underwear drawer shut and caught my finger in it. I stuck my finger in my mouth to dull the pain, cursing myself out mentally in a million different ways.
The shower shut off, and my heart kicked into overdrive. I needed to get out of there before Steele left the bathroom, otherwise things were going to be supremely—
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked as my hand reached the door handle, and I froze.
"Uh..." I didn't turn around. I couldn't. My face was probably pinker than my hair, and I felt like such a creeper. Then again, he should have closed the damn door! It was my bedroom, after all. I had every reason to be in there. "I was just going to grab a glass of water," I lied. Lame.
"Madison Kate," he said, and he was so close I almost jumped out of my skin. How'd he get so close? Damn soft carpet. "Turn around."
Nope. No way.
"Um..." I couldn't think of a damn thing. Certainly not a good reason why I couldn't turn around and face him. All I could think about was the sight of his fist working over his hard cock and how badly I wanted it to be mine.
Fuck me.
"Turn around, Hellcat," he murmured, stroking his fingers through my hair and tugging teasingly on the ends. "Or are you afraid?"
Yes! I am!
But also, damn him. He knew I'd never admit that, certainly not to one of them.
Gritting my teeth and mentally reminding myself that I was a grown-ass woman and not a slave to my hormones, I turned around to face him.
He was still dripping wet, like he'd just stepped straight out of the shower and simply tucked one of my glittery pink towels around his waist. Good lord, it was a good look on him. Not the pink sparkles—those wouldn't suit anyone—but the whole naked and wet thing? Yep, Steele was rocking that.
A slow smile curved his lips, and I snapped my gaze up to his face. I'd been blatantly checking him out, and he knew it.
"Were you running away from me, Hellcat?" he teased, leaning in close and bracing his hands on the door to either side of my head. My pink towel was tucked so loosely around his slim waist it surely wasn't going to hold much longer. Surely.