I take my time under the spray, letting the sweet combination of hot water and whiskey work out the knots. When I’m done, I slather some fancy lotion over my damp skin. The lotion was a birthday present from Gabby, my best friend and Gray’s sister-in-law, who uses every opportunity to spoil me.
When I inhale the rich scent, it reminds me to count my blessings. Even if Gray is hell-bent on destroying my life, I’m loved, and not alone in this world. Not like last time.
After hanging the towel, I crack the bathroom door to let the steam escape. That’s when something catches my eye. By something, I mean Gray Wilder sprawled in the chair a few feet from my bed, with the clothing I shed earlier folded neatly on the corner of the mattress.
It takes several long seconds for my brain to process the handsome intruder lounging in the rocking chair, one leg crossed over the other, an ankle resting on a knee, nimble fingers tapping a denim-clad thigh. The soft, faded fabric conceals the smooth muscle. But it’s there. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt the power of those legs, run my hands over the thick cords, clenched them tightly while his cock was in my throat.
I blink away the memory when Gray whistles, long and low. “Delilah,” he murmurs. “How can such a beautiful woman be such a slob?”
My arms fly to shield my girlie parts. “Fuck you,” I hiss, but the bravado quickly evaporates when I realize how silly and vulnerable I must look with my hands, fig leaves, covering my breasts and pussy like a nymph in a Renaissance painting.
Screw him. This is my house. I ignore the prickle of gooseflesh and drop my arms to the side, before marching into the bedroom, my bedroom, to grab a robe from the closet.
His eyes rove shamelessly while I slip the thin robe over my shoulders and belt it snugly. “How could you have sent that image to the authorities? I hurt your little boy feelings because I didn’t show up at the hotel, so you throw a fucking grenade.” I unleash all the negative energy that’s been building all day. Apparently, it didn’t drain away with the soapy water. “Why are you doing this to me? And who are you to be breaking into my house and stalking me without—without me knowing? I mean—who are you, really?”
Gray cocks his head and takes a good long look at me. When his eyes linger on my breasts, I feel a flush bloom, as though the robe wrapped around me is made of saran, allowing him to see everything.
“I’m the man who requested your presence last night,” he says, his hard gaze finding mine. “The one who was crystal-clear about the consequences if you didn’t obey. Smith might allow you to do whatever the hell you want, but I won’t put up with it.”
He gets up and strides over, our eyes still engaged in a knife fight, and splays his hand on my throat. When I attempt to pull away, he applies some pressure, drawing me to him with my back against his front. “I have time for a little breath play. Would you like that?”
I will myself to stay calm and let my training take over.
“Use your words, De-li-lah.” He emphasizes each syllable, drawing it out with a mocking twang.
It’s not easy, but I force my body to relax against his, brushing my backside casually against his cock to lure him into complacency. When his mouth grazes my outer ear, I catch the low rumble in his throat, and lift my leg, building momentum to slam a heel into the top of his foot. I want him to recoil from the unexpected pain and drop his hold, but Gray senses the attack and twists me around, still holding my neck firmly.
“If you ever try something like that again,” he murmurs, lowering his forehead to mine, “you’ll be a snot-covered mess before I show you an ounce of mercy.”
The combination of the harsh words and the low, silky baritone he uses to deliver the threat takes my breath away. Only a man in complete control lowers his voice like that. Scores of women are attracted to Gray’s gorgeous face and fat wallet, but it’s his unrepentant brashness and cool demeanor that’s always called to me.
“You need to learn to behave,” he chides, “and I’m going to teach you.” His eyes fall to my nipples poking through the thin fabric. He cups my breast lightly and skims his thumb over a tight furl with the patience of a man who has nothing better to tend to and nowhere else to be.
When I’m lulled by the gentle sensation, he adds some light pressure to my throat, his fingertips on the carotid artery. It’s just a few seconds, but enough to cloud my vision with black spots dotting the edges. “I can make the lessons as difficult or as easy as you wish. That part is completely in your control.”
“Why do you want to hurt me?” My voice is shaky, laying bare my fears. While I’m cursing myself for the weakness, I see a glimmer of compassion in his striking blue eyes. But like a sleight of hand, it’s fleeting and I can’t be sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks. I can’t be sure of anything when it comes to him.
“I have no reason to hurt you. None.”
He drops his hand, although I wasn’t talking about his hold on my throat. It’s the bullying that I hate.
“But don’t give me one,” he adds, “because I won’t hesitate to destroy you if necessary. The photo was a warning. The image is formatted in a way they’ll never be able to enhance. You’re safe. This time. But don’t push me, Delilah.”
My heart is pounding, and even though he’s taken his thumb off my airway, I’m still using my breath judiciously.
“Get dressed. As much as I enjoy watching your nipples respond to my voice, we have business to discuss, and you’re too much of a distraction in that flimsy robe.”
He glides two long fingers down my throat, over the hollow, and between my breasts, sliding deep into the vee of the robe that has fallen open. “Are you wet for me?”
My brain is in a fog, and I couldn’t answer him if I wanted to.
“Put some clothes on,” he demands softly, although his eyes are smoldering and he doesn’t look at all like he wants me dressed. And right now, I’m not entirely sure I want to be dressed.
“Be quick about it,” he warns, before pulling his hand away and striding out of the bedroom, leaving me standing there with my mouth agape and my flesh tingling.
6
Delilah
Despite Gray’s warning, I take a few extra minutes to dress, trying to right my head before dealing with him. My body and brain are sparring, and any survival skills I might have possessed are a bloody casualty of the battle.
When I get to the kitchen, Gray’s leaning against the counter, eating the last slice of blueberry pie like he owns the damn place. His eyes rake over my body deliberately as he takes the final bite. It’s bold and arousing. But unlike the satin robe, the baggy sweatpants and oversized hoodie that belonged to Kyle hide all my interested parts—the ones that haven’t gotten the message that sex with Gray Wilder is a very bad idea.
His gaze pauses on the FBI logo on the sweatshirt, regarding it carefully, but he says nothing.
“Surprised you didn’t help yourself to some ice cream to go along with that pie.”
“Not a fan of ice cream with pie. Makes the crust soggy.”
“I’m not interested in your food eccentricities. But I’m very interested in knowing how you followed me the other night without being detected, and then restrained me so effectively—in the way only a trained professional could do.” I square my shoulders, holding my head high and my gaze steady. “I’m not discussing anything else with you until I have answers to those questions.” I plant my feet firmly, bracing for an attack that doesn’t come.