Be a good girl?
Chills roll up my spine.
His saying that shouldn’t cause tingles to shoot between my legs.
He empties his pockets, including his gun, walks into the closet, and I hear a safe open and close.
When he returns, I watch him, slack-jawed, as he unbuttons his shirt. Mud is smeared along the right side.
There’s no stopping my lips from forming a smirk. I’m the result of the mud. My run might not have gone successfully, but at least it messed up his designer shirt.
I gulp.
Change the subject, Liliya.
Stop him from stripping.
Because Lord knows, if that shirt falls from his body, revealing his chest, I’ll go from wanting to run for the hills to wanting to run straight into his arms to touch every inch of him.
This has never been me—a woman lusting over a man at just the sight of him.
His shirt drops to the floor. His stomach is all muscles and a six-pack. A single tattoo runs up his side.
The handcuff clinks against the radiator as I try to move closer and get a better look, but he’s too far away.
He stretches inside the shower to turn on the water.
I tug at the handcuffs again.
“I wouldn’t waste my energy doing that if I were you,” Emilio says dryly.
His stank attitude reminds me that he isn’t a man nice enough to be eye-fucked.
Killers should be feared, not desired.
He unbuckles his pants, acting as if he doesn’t notice me gawking as he slides them off. He’s not undressing striptease-style. More along the lines of a man just wanting to shower and get clean.
He might not be trying to look sexy, but he is.
Sex appeal just oozes off him.
“You’d think you’d letmeshower first,” I spit, trying to get my mind on something else. “I am the dirtier one, given you tackled me to the ground. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.”
His eyes, cold and unreadable, pin on me. “Have I not made it clear that I’m no gentleman?” He pushes down his pants,revealing his boxer briefs. “It’s also your own fault that you’re dirtier. Haven’t you learned that most escapees are always caught?”
“Am I just supposed to sit here and watch you shower?”
He turns to open a cabinet and pulls out a towel and a washcloth. “You don’t have to watch me. You can no longer run free, nor do I trust you. Now, you get to wear handcuffs. This is your own doing, Liliya.”
I try to raise my arm to flip him off and obviously fail.
“You can shower after I’m finished or join me.”
“Do the handcuffs stay on if I join you?”
He pauses, thinking about it for a moment, and without replying, he drops his briefs.
I rear back, gulping, but he doesn’t give me much time to admire him before stepping into the shower. The glass steams, but I can make out his silhouette through the door. I sigh, slumping down against the radiator, and the reminder that I need to murder this man hits me.
