Page 19 of Untamed Sinner

The sweatpants don't hide much, especially not that cock.

And he’s getting hard.

Before I can catch myself, I inhale sharply, but I don’t divert my eyes. I can see the outline of him through the fabric, the way his body is responding to what's happening between us.

He's not trying to hide it. He's just standing there, drinking his water, watching me with those cold gray eyes while his cock thickens against the gray cotton as I ogle him.

"You need to wear a shirt," I say, and my voice comes out sharper than I intended. But—damn it—we need to establish some kind of boundary before this spirals completely out of control.

He raises an eyebrow. "Do I?"

I scowl at him. "We're living together for the next five days. There need to be rules."

"Rules." He sets the glass down and crosses his arms over his chest. The movement makes his biceps flex, and I hate that I notice. "What kind of rules?"

"Basic decency. You wear a shirt. I wear a shirt. We keep our hands to ourselves. We don't”—I gesture vaguely between us—"do whatever this is."

"This?” He raises his eyebrow.

I roll my eyes. "You know what I mean."

He's quiet for a moment, studying me. Then he pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. "I make the rules in this house, Amanda."

Jesus fuck, I think I just came a little at his tone of voice.

I grip the edges of my laptop like it’s a lifeline. You’d think I wouldn’t like that after everything I went through, but like I said, my time in captivity fucked me up regarding what turns me on. “Don’t call me that. And that's not how this works."

"Isn't it?" Another step. "You're here because I agreed to help you. You're staying because I'm allowing it. My house, my rules."

I lift my chin, refusing to back away. "So what, you're just going to walk around half-naked for the next five days?"

"If I want to."

I step in, needing to level the playing field. Only it doesn't help. If anything, it makes it worse because now we're so close, and I can smell him—soap and something darker, something that makes my body respond in ways I’m not used to. I shake my head. "Whatever the fuck is happening right now is a bad idea."

"Nothing's happening." But his eyes drop to my mouth, and I know he's lying. We're both lying.

"You want me to put on a shirt?" He takes another step, closing the distance until there's barely a foot between us. "Make me."

The challenge hangs in the air, electric and dangerous. I should walk away. Should go upstairs and lock myself in the guest room and stay there until morning.

Instead, I hold my ground.

"Five days," I say. "We have five days to figure out who that girl is and why Ashford wants me. That's it. We don't complicate this."

"Too late."

He's right. It's already complicated. It's been complicated since the moment I broke into his house and sat down to wait for him. Maybe it's been complicated since the first time I saw him, when he strode into the kitchen at Blackthorn ranch and took charge of the Turner raid, when I realized he was just as damaged and dangerous as I am.

"Go to bed, Mandy. You’re tired." He nods toward the notebook. "We'll start fresh in the morning. You can debrief me on what you have so far."

I want to argue, to tell him I don't take orders from him. But he's right—I'm not making progress, and sitting here in his kitchen at three in the morning while he stands half-naked in front of me is only making things worse.

I close the laptop and gather everything. Our eyes meet, and the air between us crackles with everything we're not saying.

"Good night, Hendricks," I say as civilly as I can.

"Good night."