Boom - Sabrina Stark Page 0,74

I were a betting person, I'd bet my last penny on the odds of him looking very fine. He'd be naked. And wet. And probably all sudsy, too.

At the mental image, I felt my body start to respond in ways that were more than a little unsettling.

Damn it. I hadn't come here satisfy my ill-advised lust. I'd come here to chew his ass out.

And yet, the thought of Brody's ass – with or without bite marks – made me swallow in the quiet hallway.

I glanced toward the peephole – the one he'd made on that very first night. Someone – heaven knows who – had stuffed a wadded paper napkin into the hole, which meant that unless I was willing to yank it out, peeping on Brody was completely out of the question.

It didn't matter. I'd never do such a thing. It felt sneaky and weird. Plus, I'd look totally pathetic if I were caught in mid-peep.

Knowing Brody, he'd read it completely the wrong way. He wouldn't see it as me getting some justifiable revenge. No. Not Brody. As arrogant as he was, he'd probably assume that I was ogling his naked body, giving myself a good eyeful of the sudsy water sliding down his muscular torso before heading southward.

In my mind's eye, I could already see it, all those slippery suds, easing down his six-pack and heading toward the package below.

I recalled all of those rumors from back in high school. Apparently, he had a very nice package. And, he was extra good at delivering, if you know what I mean.

At the mere thought, I blew out a shaky breath. Oh, boy.

I was doing it again.

And for some reason, this was the final straw.

Forget peeping. Perving out would be pathetic and useless. The shower door was made of frosted glass. Even if I did peep, I'd only see his silhouette.

It would be a nice silhouette, for sure. But it was hardly worth the risk. And besides, I reminded myself, that's not what I'd come here for.

No. I'd come to give him a taste of his own medicine.

With sudden inspiration, I decided to do the same thing to him that he'd done to me. I was going to bust through that freaking door and scare the crap out of him.

Take that, jerk-face.

With mad determination, I glanced around, looking for some sort of assistance – a stray battering ram and maybe a small army to wield it.

Of course, I found neither of these things. No surprise there.

But I did have my own legs and a scary amount of determination – so I strode forward and gave the door a good hard kick, swat-team style.

At the impact, I stifled a yelp. Son-of-a-bitch.

The door held firm, and the bottom of my foot hurt like heck.

But hey, I reminded myself, Brody hadn't succeeded on his first try either. I mean, this wasn't like in the movies, that's for sure.

By now, I was breathing fast and hard – whether from raw nerves or the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

With a sound of defiance, I hauled back and kicked the door again, and again, until it finally flew inward. It hit the neighboring wall and bounced back, nearly whacking me in the face. I gave the door a final, irritated push – not hard enough to bounce it back, but firm enough to keep it out of my way.

And then, feeling like a total badass, I strode right in.

The bathroom was steam-free, and surprisingly cold. Inside the shower, the water was still running. My chest rose and fell as I eyed the silhouette inside.

Oh, yeah. It was definitely Brody.

I'd know his fine form anywhere. And even if I couldn't tell by looking, his voice was all too familiar – and annoyingly calm – as he said, "Yeah?"

I shook my head. Yeah?

Well, that was disappointing.

I made a sound of annoyance. "Yeah, what?"

"What do you want?"

Well, for starters some sort of reaction would be nice. It's not like I'd expected him to scream in terror or anything. This was Brody Blastoviak, after all.

Still, I'd expected something. Anger. Surprise. Maybe even embarrassment.

But I got nothing, and his calm demeanor was a real kick in the pants.

Even his question was irritating. What did I want?

As I eyed his naked silhouette, I could think of multiple answers, but none that I'd ever act on.

The bathroom's towel rack was long gone, which meant that Brody's pelvis – unlike mine a couple of weeks ago – wasn't obscured from view.

Even through the frosted