06

RORY

I see it in his eyes the moment it dawns on him that this is all just a ploy to get him to come into my bathroom—or see me naked. Same thing.

“You don’t need a towel.” He grunts, eyes narrowed. “You don’t wear contacts either.”

Both statements are perfectly correct, of course, but I still say, “How are you so sure?”

I may wear contacts, there’s no way he can know for certain that I don’t.

He stares at me as though I’ve just asked him how he knows the sky is blue and, okay, I see his point. I’m wearing a towel which means that I did not, in fact, forget to wear the imaginary contacts and altogether means that I do not need his help.

Busted.

“What the hell, Rory?” He snaps, taking several steps backwards as though it is vital he puts space between us. My hands fall from his chest, and with the way his chest is flying up and down with his harsh breaths, you’ll think he just stepped off a treadmill.

His angry tone gives me pause. I mean, I understand why he might be angry that I tried to trick him, but surely he must understand why I did it. I don’t even have to say it out loud because it’s obvious, isn’t it?

Maybe he hasn’t fully grasped the situation yet. Maybe he’s one of those slow people who you have to take your time explaining things to before they get that lightbulb moment of clarification. I highly doubt that he is, but then again, you never know. And that is exactly why I close the distance between us and place my hand on his bicep tentatively.

“You want me.” I wrap my fingers around his bicep, marvelling at how strong and corded with muscles it is. A part of their hardness has to do with the fact that he’s holding himself so stiffly, I’m sure, but they’re naturally hard and even thicker than my calves. “Don’t you?”

He jerks as though he’s surprised I’m putting it out there so bluntly. I’ve always been blunt; I don’t see the point in sugarcoating things. It saves both mine and the other person’s time. But apparently, Carter doesn’t appreciate my bluntness because the scowl on his face deepens and his body grows tight with tension.

Because I can, because he hasn’t pushed me away yet, I move my hand from his bicep to his chest and feel the muscles. God, he’s so strong and hard, and he feels so fucking divine under my palms that I can’t fight the urge to drag my hands lower, to feel the ridges in his torso—the ones I’d seen through his shirt that day—and dig my fingers in, wanting to latch onto him so tightly that even if he tries to push me away, he won’t be able to.

“Rory…” My name is a warning on his lips, his voice low and filled with just the right amount of danger lingering underneath that makes my nipples tighten into two hard points, and sends a rush of wetness pooling at my core.

“Answer the question,” I’m breathing out through my mouth now because I can’t get in enough air through my nostrils. My head is going woozy with desire and my legs are becoming suspiciously weak.

All this just from feeling him up? The man hasn’t even put his hands on me for fuck’s sake.

“I don’t,” He says and as if to prove it to me, he takes a hold of my wandering fingers, squeezes it tight enough to cause me pain—which surprisingly only makes me that much more aroused—then shoves me away from him not-so-gently.

“Liar.”

The scowl is still on his face as he glares at me, dragging his eyes over me from top to bottom. Head to toe. Somehow, the way he stares at me manages to make me feel like scum and I hate it.

“You’re not my type,” he tells me eventually and the look he gives me is so scathing, I’m surprised my skin doesn’t catch fire right then and there. Shame scalds me and I clutch my towel tighter, feeling insecure all of a sudden. “Far from it, actually. And you would do well to put that into consideration before plotting something like this next time.”

My breathing has grown laboured and I am fighting the urge to shift my weight from one foot to another. I force my hand down from my towel because that, too, is a tell that I’m nervous and it would only give him more power over me.

I believe he’s attracted to me—or at least I did.

I’d seen the way he looked at me yesterday when I’d gone down to the gym to tell him that I made him coffee. I’d been wearing a tank top and leggings—a far from sexy attire—yet his eyes had burned a path down my body as though he could see through the material. And when heat had flared in the brown depths, I’d thought maybe he could.

Fast forward to when I’d returned from work, I’d deliberately popped another button on my blouse to see if it would draw his eyes and truly, he’d noticed. He hadn’t just looked—he’d stared. Since he’s far taller than me, I have a sinking suspicion that he’d been able to see straight down and that he had seen my lacy black bra underneath.

There’s so many evidence that he wants me. So what is this he’s saying about me not being his type?

Is it possible that I completely misread him?

I look at his sweatpants—the front of it—and see the bulge there, and that’s how I know he’s lying.

As if a switch has been flipped, I straighten, pull my shoulders back and give him a smile that has his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, no doubt wondering why there’s a smile on my face when he just shot me down so throughly, it would obliterate my self-esteem if I’m a lesser woman.

Unfortunately for him, I’m not.

“Your mouth says one thing, your body says another.”

When he gives me a confused look, I stare pointedly at his erection in his sweatpants. He follows my gaze, sees what I’m talking about, then his face shutters.

He stares at me for a long while, his eyes bouncing over several parts of me as though he can't quite settle on what feature he wants to look at. His eyes linger on my bare shoulder, my breasts as if he can see them through the towel, and my bare legs. 

There's no hiding the lust in his eyes. I can almost feel it like it's mine, and the evidence of his want for me lingers on the bare skin his eyes have touched.

Despite the cold shower I just had, I suddenly feel hot. 

"What you just tried to do was inappropriate. Not to mention, unnecessary." He speaks finally, jaws bulging as he turns away from me. "Don't ever do something like that again. It will not be accepted."

How is it even possible that I can see the lust in his eyes, his body, yet when he speaks, it’s a totally different thing.

He turns to leave but my next words stop him. They have him turning back to me with narrowed eyes and an incredibly tight expression, I'm surprised his face hasn't shattered into a million pieces like glass. 

"What if I do?" 

"What?" 

I believe he's asking that not because he didn't hear me the first time, but to make sure that he actually did hear me correctly. I'm more than happy to repeat myself.

"You said I shouldn't do something like that ever again." My voice doesn't shake and my stance is one of a confident woman. I take a step closer and he seems to shrink back, except it's not possible for a man like him who has probably faced way more terrifying things to retreat from me—a small woman clad in a towel. "What if I decide to ignore your warning and do it anyway?"

Now, you might wonder why I've suddenly made it my life's mission to bang my bodyguard. 

When I couldn't stop thinking about how effing sexy he is all through yesterday and at work today, I decided to text my best friend about it and in classic Avery fashion, she suggested I fuck him once and get him out of my mind. 

That’s exactly what I planned to do but now that Carter has decided to deny his attraction for me, it's pissing me off and making me all the more determined to prove him wrong.

I want to make him eat his words.

"Actions have consequences, Rory," he warns even as his eyes sweep my form. "Don't test me."

The danger in his voice calls to me and like a moth to a flame, I'm drawn. 

I want to test him. I very much want to test him so that I can watch him break. It's going to be a lot more fun that way.

He says he doesn't want me and yet he's still standing in my bathroom, indulging me. If at least a small part of him isn't tempted, he would have hightailed it out of here as fast as possible the moment he realised what my plan actually was. 

Giving him my back, I walk over to the hook where my robe dangles from and unknot my towel, letting it pool around me. The sharp exhale I hear from behind me is enough to tell me that Carter is watching me, and also confirmation that he's attracted to me. 

The liar. 

"What if I want to test you, Carter?" I ask without looking at him. I sling the robe over my shoulders, shoving my hands into the sleeves and tying the rope. 

There's silence for a while and just when I start to think that maybe he's left the bathroom silently, he speaks up. "You'll regret it."

His voice is low, rough like gravel, and husky. He's not breathing properly and I bet if I turn around right now, I'll find him wrestling with his lust, trying to rein it in and when I turn back around and look at him, I see that I'm right. He's grinding down on his molars, his jaws clenching. His eyes are hard and dark and shows all the emotions he's trying so hard to hide. 

"I'm going to have a good time regretting it, then."

His nostrils flare and he yanks on the door handle, damn near ripping the thing off its hinges in his anger. It shouldn't turn me on so much to see a man vibrating with barely controlled anger and lust, but God, all it does is ignite my own arousal until I'm squeezing my thighs together. 

He doesn't miss the action. His nostrils flare. "We'll see about that."

"I guess we will," is the last thing I say before he leaves the bathroom. 

I have never seen a man exit a place so fast. 

Carter just challenged me, but little does he know I'm not one to back down from a challenge and I never lose. 

Challenge accepted.