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I open my suitcase and take out the zip-bag containing my underwear, placing it on the drawers as I slide the top one open. The usually empty velvet interior is filled with meticulously arranged pieces of lace, silk, and pearls.
I hook a crystal strand over one finger and lift it, revealing an intricate lace bodysuit that’s light and soft as a feather, swallowing as the unknown scent intensifies, now mixed with something rich and decadent. Like caramel and…
I lean a little closer and inhale.
“What the fuck?”
The material is ripped from my hand in an instant. Blazing blue eyes meet mine.
“Why are you touching my lingerie?”
I jerk back, my eyes dropping over her water-droplet coated skin as she squares up to me wrapped in a white towel.
“This is my room.”
“And these are my things.” Ava wedges herself in-between me and the drawers like she’s protecting them.
“Why are your things in my room?”
“Margaret said this was my room.”
I stare at her, wondering where she got such a smart mouth. She’s obviously grown up getting away with being a brat. A parent who was poor at discipline, perhaps? One who didn’t teach her respect.
“Don’t hitch your brows at me like that. Like I’d choose your room if I’d known you were coming back from LA.” She spitsLAout like it tastes sour as she moves to grab an old, battered suitcase and flings it open on the floor.
She huffs as she holds her towel around her and approaches the drawers. Despite the tension radiating from her, her movements soften as the top drawer slides open.
She starts to place the contents of the drawer inside the suitcase. She does it carefully, lovingly, a sereneness washing over her features as she curls her fingers around each item.
“That’s expensive lingerie for an unemployed student,” I say, spotting a price tag on a deep mocha-colored thong in the drawer.
“I’m a graduate. And what exactly are you implying?” She whirls to face me, dropping the pink panties in her hand on the floor.
Manners make me bend to retrieve them. Her fingers brush mine as she takes them back, a blush creeping up her neck.
“It’s merely an observation,” I reply coolly, my eyes trained on her as she resumes her packing.
“Yeah, well… I save up, okay?” she huffs. “I like them. They’re lucky,” she adds, eyeing me warily.
“I don’t want to know.”
She glares at me. “I mean for exams and things.”
“I’m quite sure that I don’t know,” I reply, wondering why I’m still standing here watching her.
Why I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Why? Been that long since you had an exam, you forgot what nerves feel like?” she tuts.
I’m not sure if she’s making quips about my age to rile me, or whether she’s just plain ignorant about what comes out of her mouth. Someone should teach her some manners.
I clear my throat and push my hands into my pockets.
“I meant I don’t know what it’s like to have lucky panties. I prefer to wear boxers.”
She pins widened eyes on mine. I tip my head to one side, enjoying the way her pulse flutters in her neck.
I like surprising people. Having control. I crave it. I pride myself on my self-control, my restraint. Calmness washes over my gut as her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, unsure what to say.
