Page 36 of Viper

The sound of water running down the drain indicated she’d pulled the plug. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want you to see me naked!”

He chortled. “You wanted me to see you naked this morning.”

“Troy,” she chastised, but the playfulness in her voice made him grin. “That was different. I wasn’t helpless.”

“Coming in,” he announced. He opened the door, and she squeaked louder than the hinges.

As much as it almost killed him, he kept his eyes off the bathtub and pivoted to the towel rack above the toilet, next to the tub. Shaking out a fluffy navy-blue towel, he held it open for her and ducked his chin.

“You’re ridiculous.” Water splashed as she stood. He closed his arms around her, bundling her in the material.

He lifted her over the lip of the tub and placed her on her feet. The top of her head sat just below his sternum. Damn, their size difference always turned him on. He rubbed his hands up and down her shoulders. She chuckled and wiggled from his hold.

“I’m going to stop you right there before you start drying me.”

“Would you mind?” He picked up a wet lock of her hair and curled it around her ear.

She rolled her lips together, and interest sparked in her pretty gray eyes. A flush spread down her neck, and he wanted nothing more than to see if it traveled beneath the towel.

Christ, he loved how she responded to him. One touch, one word, and she was mush in his hands.

“Maybe,” she said, with a sly grin.

He arched an eyebrow skeptically, earning him a sharp swing of her little elbow.

“All right. I’m fine, see?”

“You look tired.”

She placed a hand on his chest and eased him back an inch. “And you look like trouble.”

He caught her wrist. “If you weren’t just put through the ringer, we’d both be in trouble. You need rest and I’m going to make sure you get it.”

He scooped her up and she let out another squeak of protest. He carried her through the bathroom and into the bedroom. The smell of his shampoo and soap hung in a cloud around her soft hair. Desire stirred in his groin, but he’d stay true to his word.

Finishing what she’d started this morning would have to wait—possibly longer than he wanted because Atlas would be here tomorrow.

In his business.

In their space.

Like the walking, talking cockblocker he was.

He set Paige on the edge of the bed. The towel slipped off one shoulder enough to reveal her toned abdomen and the crease where her thighs met. He jerked the towel closed, his fingers aching to toss the damn thing to the floor.

Paige’s wet hair waved around her breasts. Her eyes were wide and lacked reproach. Instead, twin flames of desire locked on him.

A channel of need rushed through his torso. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear his fingers away. She blinked, and the sudden, subtle movement was enough to snap him out of the spell he was under.

She clutched the edges of the terrycloth together. He cleared his throat and pried his fingers away. Nodding at the pile of clothes he’d left her on the edge of the bed, he backpedaled toward the door.

“There’s some clothes for you. If you need anything else, gimme a holler.”

She nodded. “Good night.”

“Night.” He shut the door, blocking the sound of his roaring pulse before she heard it.

He crossed the short hallway to the living room and dropped onto the couch. How the hell was he going to do this? Keeping his hands off Paige had been trying before. Now, she was under his roof, in his fucking bed, and, until further notice, in his daily life.