resign.’ My body begins to heat up, and it isn’t with desire. ‘And I believe you yelled “good” a second after I quit, Mr Hunt.’
His face twists in annoyance, his head dropping back in exasperation. I wish he wouldn’t do that. His stubble is the perfect length on his taut throat, begging for me stroke it. My own face twists too, and I struggle to grab control of my traitorous mind and stop it from wandering to forbidden places. I can’t. Now he’s flesh and blood and standing right in front of me, the memories are like a tidal wave, crashing over me relentlessly. His chest, his mouth, his power. Oh, flipping heck. In a panic, I grab the door and violently throw my weight behind it, waiting for the loud bang to ricochet around my apartment, except that loud bang doesn’t come. Well, it does, but it’s delayed. Becker pushes his way past the door and puts my forceful attempts to shame. I jump back when the wood hits the frame, but quickly gather myself, ready to blast him with my viper tongue. I just about manage to load my lungs with air, ready to fire, when he tackles me around the waist, flipping me up on to his shoulder.
‘What the fuck, Becker?’ I yell, brushing my hair from my face. ‘Get your filthy hands off me.’
‘Shut up, princess,’ he snaps, striding into my bathroom and reaching to turn on the shower.
‘Don’t call me princess.’ I thump his back in my temper, ignoring my brain when it reminds me I didn’t complain last night when he used the irritating pet name.
‘I said, shut up.’ He dumps me on my feet and grabs my hair on either side of my temples, getting way too close for comfort. If he didn’t look so aggravated, I would think he was moving in for a kiss.
My hands come up fast and smack him away. ‘Get out,’ I demand.
He rolls his eyes. He actually rolls his eyes at me. What’s he on? ‘Get in the shower.’
‘I will not.’ I pivot on my heel . . . and go nowhere.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asks, calm as can be, seizing me and opening the shower door.
I wriggle like a demented worm to no avail, and then the fact that no steam is emanating from the shower cubicle grabs my attention. I stop fighting him, but only long enough to spot the shower dial and note that the twat turned it the wrong way. Then my squirming hits new heights as I come closer to the spray. ‘Becker,’ I yelp, kicking back into his shin, getting some mild satisfaction from the curse that bursts from him. ‘You’ve turned it to cold.’ He completely ignores me and shoves me into the cubicle. ‘No!’ The water hits me like a million ice spears, stabbing my skin, and my body goes into shock. Every muscle shuts down as I’m attacked by the icy water. ‘Oh my God.’ My words come out broken and my teeth begin to chatter, the material of my shorts and vest clinging to me and my hair soaking up every freezing drop raining down over my defenceless body.
‘There,’ I hear him say as I slowly shuffle around, finding him on the other side of the glass – the dry, warm side – brushing off his hands, a smug smile stretched from ear to ear. ‘Wasn’t so hard, was it?’
I’m so fucking cold, I could cry. ‘I hate you,’ I choke, making a grab for the door handle, my only purpose now to escape. But he pushes against the frame, keeping me prisoner in the ice box. ‘Let me out.’
His head cocks and he brings his face close, pushing his lips to the glass and giving it a smacker of a kiss. ‘You looked like you needed to cool off, princess.’
I mentally scream and finally find the sense to swing around and locate the temperature gauge, flipping it to the maximum heat and pinning myself to the tiles while it warms up. Taking the sponge, I hold it under the spray and squirt some shower gel on it. ‘When I get out of this shower, you’d better be gone.’
‘Or else?’ He raises an interested eyebrow that I only just catch before steam engulfs the glass and his infuriatingly handsome face is no longer visible.
I have no or else. ‘Get out.’ I toss the drenched sponge over the top of the door and hope he’s