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I’m suddenly at a loss for words. The sight of his muscles—and whooo boi is he ripped—rippling while still glistening from the shower makes my mouth literally water. And when he moves to his dresser, his back facing me, the towel around his waist drops to the floor.
I look away.
At least, I try to.
Maybe it takes me a few seconds to realize I’m staring.
Maybe it takes me a few seconds to wonder why the hell we’re not currently horizontal and moaning.
Because it was a drunken, stupid, one-time thing. A one-night stand, emphasis on the “one.” If he wanted you that bad, he’d have let you know by now.
“Come.”
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by Pasha’s deep voice right in front of me. He’s completely dressed, splashed with cologne, and looking at me expectantly.
What were we doing? Oh, right. He wants to walk me down to my ride. Probably wants to make sure it’s not a serial killer and all that.
When the elevator doors open on the ground floor, Pasha follows me out into the lobby. I figure this is where he’s going to take a glance at my car, make sure one of his cronies is on my tail, and go saunter off to wherever it is he’s going today.
But he follows me through the front door.
And to what is apparently my ride, idling by the curb.
“Morning,” he casually greets the driver at the lowered passenger window. “Sorry for the confusion. We’re good.”
The driver starts to ask me what’s going on when Pasha pulls out a few bills from his pocket and hands them to him.
“For your trouble.”
And that’s how I’m left, dumbfounded, as my rideshare pulls away.
Pasha calmly turns around, loops his arm around me, and steers me toward the garage walkway. He doesn’t look up from his phone until the Charger pulls up next to us and one of his guards—Boris, I think—slides out of the driver’s seat.
“All yours, boss.”
They exchange keys, Pasha opens the passenger side, and I’m deposited into the seat like some errant child.
“I’m sorry,” I bluntly say once he’s in as well, “but what the hell just happened?”
“I’m driving you to work.” He adjusts the seat and a few mirrors, not once looking at me. “Buckle up.”
I frown at him. “But I had a ride.”
“You still do. Now, buckle up.”
I huff and adjust the seatbelt while he pulls out into the street, still feeling like he’s treating me like some child. “I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way to work,” I remind him.
“With a complete stranger?” He snorts. “I don’t fucking think so.”
“I didn’t ask what you think.”
His jaw clenches for a second. “You should. It’d save both of us a lot of time.”
The actual nerve of this man… “I have my own car.”
“You mean that death trap?” He snorts. “Time for a new car.”
“Hey! That’s my death trap. And I happen to like it.”
