Page 61 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“I’ll take the one next to you.”

Where I would stand under the spray of the shower that would share a wall with hers and try not to think about her in there with nothing on, the water sliding down her bare—

“Christ,” I whispered to myself as I moved into my room, placing my pajama pants down on the counter and getting out my toothbrush and paste.

In the other room, as I brushed, the water turned on, a splatter against tile.

But before I could do more than take off my shirt, there was a shrill scream from Caitlin’s room.

My fucking heart flew into my chest as I grabbed my knife and rushed over.

“Caitlin!” I yelled, pounding on the door. “Cait—”

The door flew open.

And there she was.

In nothing but a pale pink bra and polka-dot panties, her eyes wide, her plastic-bag-covered, casted hand pressed to her heart.

“Where is he?” I snarled, striding inside.

“On the wall.”

“On the… what?” I asked, turning back to face her.

“Careful. He’s as big as your head.”

“What is?”

She moved behind me, one hand pressed to my back as the other lifted and moved around me to point.

All I wanted to do was focus on how I could feel her breasts on my back. But I forced myself to follow her finger. Then there it was.

A damn spider.

Sure, it was a big one.

But nowhere near the size of my head.

“Look at him with his beady, murderous eyes,” she said, pressing closer to me, making my system short-circuit. This was not a good time for my cock to start getting ideas. But they were there. And my body was reacting.

“Where’s your shoe?” I asked, moving to the side. She moved with me, hiding behind me like a human shield.

“No! Don’t kill him. It’s not his fault he’s so ugly.”

A snort escaped me at that.

“What do you want me to do then? Relocate him?”

“Yeah. I mean, this is his home. I just don’t want him launching himself at me from his butt-rope while I’m naked.”

Shaking that mental image away, I glanced around. “Got anything I can catch him in then?”

“I’ll look. Don’t take your eye off him.”

I took a deep breath as she moved away, telling myself to watch the stupid spider, but I couldn’t seem to help but glance over at her back as she turned. The slope of her spine, the curve of her hip, the round ass that peeked out of the bottom of her panties.

“Oh, perfect!” she said, fishing a plastic travel case for a bar of soap, dropping the bar into her bag, then holding the two parts out to me. “You can, you know, scoot him in and close it up. Then take him outside where he can converse with his creepy eight-legged friends and eat a bunch of mosquitoes.”