Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2) - Rachel Jonas Page 0,40
too romantic a setting for what I anticipate to be a heated discussion.
He stands there, silent, raising his brow.
“Well?” he asks. “You said there were conditions.”
My gaze shifts toward the closet and I move that way, slipping a second robe off its hanger. When I hand it over, he smirks, visibly confused.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Security,” I answer. “Strip and put your clothes and phone in the closet. I’m not taking any chances you’ll record this conversation.”
At first, he chuffs a short laugh. Then, he realizes I’m dead-ass serious and shakes his head.
“Wow,” he mutters to himself. But then, the next second, he complies.
While I expected him to step into the bathroom to undress, he surprises me by pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion, mussing his hair in the process. A breath hitches in my throat at the sight of taut skin I can still feel against my palms. Against… all of me.
He moves on to his belt and the sound of the metal buckle clanking is the only sound in the room for a moment. Then, his zipper lowers. My jaw ticks with tension as he drops his jeans and boxers at the same time, and even steps out of his socks before kicking it all inside the closet.
And there he stands, naked in all his otherworldly perfection, not a shy bone in his body. It’s unavoidable when my eyes lower, past the toned ridges of muscle at his waist and hips. They land on the gloriously thick masterpiece hanging between his solid thighs as he stands there so relaxed, casual. Two words come to mind and I blame them on the Vodka.
Fucking magnificent.
I force my eyes to snap to his as he takes the robe I’ve just shoved toward his chest. Of course, he takes his time slipping into it, only to barely tie the thing around his waist. In true West-fashion, he doesn’t give a shit.
“Happy?” he asks, shooting me a look.
I answer with nothing more than a nod, then do my best to ignore how the temp in the suite just rose a good fifty degrees. Not even kidding. Or maybe it’s just my temperature that’s spiked.
I motion for him to sit in the armchair, across from where I’ve just lowered onto the bed. Hopefully, he makes this quick, puts his clothes back on and leaves.
I’m tipsier than I should be in his presence. My defenses are definitely down, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“You wanted to talk. So, talk,” I say, happy that at least my tone doesn’t give away my weakness for him.
Comfortable, West plants his feet and slouches a bit into the deep seat. I’m pretty sure I have a clear view of his junk, but don’t dare glance down.
Nope.
Not doing it.
“I heard about Scar,” he says first, making it easier to focus on reality. “I know how important she is to you, and I’m sorry that what happened between us made things harder for her.”
There’s sincerity in his voice that I don’t expect, and it’s difficult to process. Then again, he’s a master manipulator, and this could all be part of the act.
“I already told you, don’t mention my sister,” I snap, which draws a frustrated sigh out of him.
“I’m just trying to own the shit I’ve done, Southside. What happened to her is on me,” he admits. “Even if…”
My brow quirks when it sounds like he’s about to say more, but his words cut off there, leaving me hanging by a thread.
It makes me scoff at myself, remembering who I’m dealing with. “You say so much, but at the same time, you say nothing at all, West. I’m sick of the riddles.”
He blows out a breath and the tension in his jaw tells of his frustration. Is it because I challenge him? Because I don’t let him get by with these weak apologies and thin explanations that seem to work on everyone else? I’m done letting him hold the reins. He’s not my leader, and I sure as shit am not one of his pathetic followers.
“You told me to leave less than five minutes after we fucked. Who the hell are you gonna blame that on?” I blurt out, surprising myself with the bold question.
It’s humiliating enough to think it, but speaking it takes the embarrassment to a whole new level.
Suddenly uncomfortable with what I just put out into the atmosphere, I clutch the lapel of my robe and pull it closed, crossing my legs right after.