His smirk is replaced by a sharpened edge of his jaw. I guess he’s still angry about the fact that I work here.
Join the club, asshole.
“And yet, my sheets aren’t changed and the trash is still in the trashcan.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Well, because he’s right. I didn’t clean. I snooped.
“I don’t remember letting you in,” he goes on.
“I knocked. You didn’t open.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you got in.”
I have this grave urge to shift from one foot to another as if I did something wrong, which I kinda did. “I had the key.”
“I want it back.”
“What?”
“The key. I don’t want you in my space.”
He’s right. He really doesn’t. I’m a snoop. But hello? After everything he’s done to me over the years, I have the freaking right to look through his stuff.
“Trust me, being in your space is the last thing I want. Who knows what prank you’ll play on me?”
“Prank.”
That word in my mouth didn’t sound nearly as dangerous as it does in his. It’s the way his lips and his tongue molded around the word and gave it a life. A dangerous kind of life, and suddenly, I’m bombarded with all these ideas. Of what he can do to me.
Swallowing, I look at the curl of his biceps. They are huge.
He could crush me, if he wanted. He could wrap his large arms around me, restrain me with his body, cover me and hide me under him. And it would take days for someone to find me.
“Yes.” I clear my throat, my eyes still stuck to his rippling muscles, as my lungs are running out of air. “If you’re thinking of locking me up in here, I’ll have you know that they’re looking for me. My friend, she knows I’m up here and if I don’t show up for lunch, she’s going to call 911.”
“Good to know.”
His mocking tone makes me look away and at his face. “I’m not kidding.”
I kinda am but he doesn’t need to know that. If I don’t show up for lunch, Tina will think I’m still finishing up my duties. No one’s coming for me.
“Neither am I,” he says. “Now, if you’re done fucking around, I want the key back.”
“I can’t give you the key,” I say, exasperatedly. “You know Mrs. Stewart? She’s my boss and she’s freaking weird about them.”
“I don’t care.”
Asshole.
I clutch my sides, as if protecting the keys inside my pocket. “I’m not getting fired because you have privacy issues.”
As soon as I say it, I realize what this is. My worst fear is coming true. This is all a ploy to get me fired.
I knew it.
Boring his eyes into me, he leans closer. He’s practically hanging over me, like a dark shadow.
“Getting you fired is the last thing on my mind. Where would be the fun in that?” he says, reading my thoughts and making me breathless.
Thoughtless.
“Besides, if I want, I can fire you right now. In case you forgot the conversation we had last night, you do as I say. I’m the boss of your boss.” He extends his arm. “Give me the fucking keys.”
He didn’t look as threatening then as he does in the light of day. Could be because last night, we were out in the open and right now, we’re here, so fucking close to each other.
With his thing in between us.
Like a puppet, I look at his arm. My gaze hooks on to something that wasn’t there before.
It’s a tattoo, a sentence running along one side of his wrist: I can cross the line.
“You never had that in school…” I trail off.
“Give me the fucking keys before I take them,” he grits out, ignoring my asinine sentence.
I whip my eyes up at him. His frown is fierce. Scary.
Biting my lip, I fish the keys out of my pocket and drop them onto his open palm. But that’s not the only thing I drop. As I take a deep breath of relief thinking that now he’ll let me go, my other fist opens, as well.
And out comes the double pack of Marlboros that I stole from him.
Zach looks down at it, and then up at me. I must look like a trapped animal, all wide eyes and panting breaths.
A frisson of current flashes across his eyes. “Are you stealing from me, Blue?”
“No.”
“No?”
I shake my head, panicked. “N-no.”
Zach looks at my hair. It’s messily braided and pushed away from my face because Mrs. S doesn’t like loose strands.
“So are you saying that some things do change? You’re not a thief anymore?”
My heart bangs in my chest at the mention of the word thief.
He and his minions used to call me that back in school. In fact, Zach started calling me that the very first day we met in detention. All because I borrowed someone’s carrot sticks without asking. I replaced them the next day. Not that anyone cares about that.
I lick my sweaty lips. “No, I wasn’t stealing.”
Keeping his eyes on me, he tosses the keys over his shoulder. They land somewhere on the floor with a clatter that makes me flinch.
Somehow, having both his hands free has tipped the situation from terrible to catastrophic.
“Do you know what happens to little thieves like you?” he asks, softly, running his eyes up and down my body again.
A body that’s exploding. My skin is flushed and riddled with goose bumps. They are so sharp that it’s painful.
“I told you I wasn’t stealing,” I repeat but with a little more heat.
He ignores me, all bunched up and tall. “They get punished.”
Oh man, is he growing right in front of my eyes?
I scoff and pretend to be brave. “What is this? Your kinky fantasy? Am I supposed to call you sir now?”
At this, Zach steps inside the bathtub and I barely, barely, manage to not squeak. He’s bringing his dangerous, naked bulk even closer to me.
Don’t look at his thing.
“Maybe,” he replies to my earlier question. “A little respect would go a long way. Since it looks like your fate is in my hands.”
“If you come any closer, I’m going to scream,” I warn him.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not joking. And then, I’m going to sue your ass for sexual harassment.” I nod for good measure. “That’s right, asshole. I know my rights.”
Or I will. As soon as I get out of here, I’m googling the shit out of this.
Zach cocks his head to the side, still advancing toward me. “Do you wanna know what I’m gonna do to your ass?”
Jesus.
I stick my hand out, careful not to touch him. “Can you just stop with the sexual innuendos? I wasn’t stealing, okay? I was just trying to make your life a little difficult.”
Zach stops, comes to a sudden halt in his tracks. “What?”
I admit, “I was going to flush them down the toilet. That’s it.” When he keeps silent, I glance at him. “It’s only fair. After everything you’ve done to me.”
He remains silent but watching.
There’s no expression on his face. Nothing but pure intensity, and I can’t look at him. He’s too close. Too large.
Too naked.
His smell and the heat of his skin surround me like two strong arms and I can’t break their hold.
When I feel him leaning toward me, I snap my eyes up at him. My heart’s in my throat, ready to fly out of it as I realize that any second he might touch me.
Again.
Oh my God, he’s going to touch me.
I’m about to scream when a great rush of water rains down on my head like some heavy weight. It takes a second for me to understand what has happened.
Zach just turned on the shower. With me inside the bathtub. Fully clothed and all.
“W-what –"
Cutting off my garbled words, he orders, “Get out.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
Shuddering and stumbling, I jump out of the bathtub. My boots slosh with water and I barely manage to stay upright on the slippery floor. Water sluices down my hair and my face and my uniform is almost completely drenched.
“Here.”
At his voice, I turn around, outraged and furious, ready to give him a piece of my mind. But Zach throws something at me and on instinct, I catch it.
“Don’t forget to take these.”
Speechless, I stare at him.
“Now get the fuck out. I don’t wanna see your face for however long I’m here for, got it?”
Then he pulls the curtain shut, leaving me in a wet, clinging dress, clutching a double pack of Marlboro cigarettes.
He’s staring at me.
And working out. But mostly staring.
I was on my way up to the main house for the daily morning meeting when I was stopped by Grace and we started chatting. As usual, Tina was already gone before I even woke up.
Two seconds into the conversation, I realized a presence. Like when the air is so heavy and saturated, and you know that the sun is going to scorch the earth today.
The air seemed full and brimming but I knew it wasn’t the sun.
It was him.
Anyway, right now, he’s by the pool, doing push-ups. In nothing but a pair of black track pants as he watches me talk with Grace.
What’s his aversion to clothes? Why can’t he work out in a shirt or something? Why does he have to put his… sculpted muscles on display?
People who wanna rub one out.
I shake my head and dismiss his crass words. But I can’t dismiss what’s happening in front of me.
With every rep, his arms strain and bulge, and I think that any time those veins of his will pop out of his skin.
Whatever. I don’t care.
Neither do I care about the fact that he’s glistening, and I can see every ripple and groove of his shoulders and back. Even the drops of sweat that are pooling in those ridges.
Why’s he working out in this heat, anyway? The main house has a big gym, for God’s sake.