“I know.” He was so smug he sounded like Zavier for a second. The brat must have been rubbing off on him.
I paused, in the middle of sliding off my second boot. Initially, I intended to scold him for being a shit like Z. But the look in Malcolm’s eyes immediately made my nipples harden. His pride was so intense and fierce that it was palpable. Feral. Hot as hell. Malcolm and I shared a look that grew steadily more fervid—until Gray walked through the door, ruining the moment.
“Alright, think we’re in the clear,” he said, clicking the deadbolt into place, his stupid Hawaiian flower print taking the mood from volcanic to Sponge Bob goofy.
I gave Malcolm a disappointed grin; disappointed because I’d been ninety percent sure he’d been about to jump me, and Malcolm’s mouth was a welcome distraction after the Potts’ debacle. Malcolm’s eyes studied me for a second, probably frickin’ realizing that, before he turned to Gray.
“Sure about that, Maverick Jones?” he deadpanned.
“Who the hell is Maverick—” I started.
“He gave himself a name like a goddamned TV character when he rented this place.” Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Super subtle.”
“Shut up, fucker. Let’s see you coordinate an escape plan.” Grayson immediately crossed his arms, defensive.
“I’m planning a media assault,” Malcolm snapped. “It’s just as important to get the public to start questioning the Pinnacle as it is to hide from them.”
“We can’t hide, we can’t do anything,” Gray responded, his brows lowering.
Testosterone heated up the bottom floor—actually, Malcolm’s power heated it up as he glared up at Gray. “We don’t sway public opinion, then our endgame, curing vamps, is for naught. Nobody will support it. They’ll just want to exterminate them like vermin.”
“They’ll exterminate us like vermin if I don’t watch our backs.”
I really didn’t feel like breaking up a playground fight, but teenage guys and their hot heads meant it was unlikely this was going to resolve without my interference.
“Roshambo to kiss me,” I stood and declared.
That made the idiots stop dead. Gray glared at me and Malcolm shook his head.
“You think we’re dumb enough to get distracted—”
I just shrugged as I started to unzip my jeans and let a bit of lacy panty show. “Winner can kiss me anywhere.”
The fastest game of roshambo in history commenced.
Malcolm won, of course. He could read body language like nobody’s business. He didn’t even look at Gray’s hands, just the other guy’s face as they slammed their fists into their palms three times.
I couldn’t see whatever tell led Malcolm to pick paper just as Gray picked rock, but Malcolm didn’t even have to glance down at their hands to know he’d won.
Grayson cursed, “Fucker.”
“Planning on it. Oh, did you say fucker? Thought you said ‘fuck her.’” Malcolm ducked a playful swipe from Gray.
I pressed my lips together to avoid full on laughter, because I was pretty certain Gray wouldn’t appreciate it. But it was pretty damn funny and we all knew it. And it had broken the tension. And guaranteed me some naughty time. So … it was a win-win really.
“Don’t pout, Preschool.” Malcolm grinned.
“Are the other guys back yet?” I tried to change the subject to ease them both off the competitiveness that was driving them just then.
Gray grumbled as he checked his watch. “Evan’s due in about half an hour. But the other two will probably be hanging out until tonight, trying to get a full picture of what it’s really like for guard changes at the Institute.” Gray glanced at his watch. “I probably need to swap out the batteries on that drone so it’s ready for Evan. Don’t take too long with that kiss.”
“Can’t make any promises.”
Gray rolled his eyes and stomped up the steps. His muttered curses trailed down the steps behind him.
Malcolm stepped forward, sliding one of his legs between mine so that I straddled his thigh. Immediately, my body responded. My core tightened and tensed in anticipation as Malcolm leaned down close to me. “Ready for that kiss?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I pushed up onto my toes, dragging my core slowly over his pants as I brought my lips within a hair’s breadth of his.
“Too bad,” he whispered, stepping back. “You’re getting a bath first.”
“What?” Part of me was outraged, another part was amused and a third part was already imagining laying in the tub and letting him gently clean me up like before.
Malcolm pointed and swung his index finger in a circle. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your sad face, Shakespeare. Something happened with that psychiatrist. Go grab a change of clothes. Your bedroom’s on the third floor. Then meet me in the master bathroom on the second floor.”
I scooped up my boots and ran up the stairs, too many emotions to handle battering me. He knew. Malcolm always fucking knew. And God help me, if that didn’t make me fall more for him every single time. He was the only person who saw through all my bullshit.
Vulnerability and adoration danced in my chest, holding hands and giggling, then writing Malcolm’s name in glittery pens in their notebooks before slamming them shut and hiding them under their pillow.
Fuck.
I wasn’t the only one getting a kiss after this bath. He’d be lucky if he could walk afterward.
20
Anticipation clouded my thoughts as we climbed the stairs and went down the hall to the bathroom. But when we got there, Malcolm stopped in front of the door and wouldn’t let me enter.
“I’ll get the water going. Go grab some clothes from your bedroom.”
When I returned to the bathroom a minute later, there were at least ten tiny floating flames in the room and the bathtub/shower combo held a steadily growing mound of bubbles. It was perfect.
Malcolm walked over and stood facing me. His blue eyes studied mine as his left hand reached to the side and slowly pushed the bathroom door closed. He locked it before reaching for me. Without a word, he started to take off my leather riding jacket.
"I can—"
He cut me off with a stern smack from his eyes.
So I shut up and let him take care of me.
With the softest touch imaginable, he slid the jacket I'd borrowed off my shoulders, gently caressing my skin after the fabric was gone. His thumbs made little circles down my arms before he circled behind me and carefully unzipped my leather top.
My breath caught when he pushed it forward and his hands brushed the side of my breasts.
I bit my lip as he slowly slid the straps down my arms and then tossed the garment aside.
"No bra," he whispered.
I shook my head and felt him step closer, pressing his erection against my back. Even though he was still fully clothed, I felt every damn inch.
"I'm going to strip you down. And then my fingers are going to touch every inch of your skin."
My nipples pebbled and my stomach heated at his words. It was hard to resist spinning around and pressing a fierce kiss to his lips.
He pushed my pants down, but only so they bunched around my knees. Because Malcolm had other plans. His hands reached my panties. He didn't just slide them down like I expected. He used a fingertip to trace the scalloped lace along my hips, underneath my buttocks, then up around my back and stomach before teasing me by tracing the red lace along my inner thighs.