by Anne Jolin
I’m about to remind her again that my name’s not Hans, but she’s already slipped out the door. Shaking my head, I strip down and head for the shower. After my first hot, steamy shower in weeks in a clean bathroom, I smile as I dry off. Then I wrap a towel around my waist and exit the room.
I’m shocked to see a woman rifling through my bag, her back to me. Fucking hell! I knew this place was too good to be true. Storming over to her, I yank her bicep and turn her to me, ready to unleash a slew of curse words on the thief, when recognition settles over me.
“Lene? What the hell are you doing?” I demand. As soon as I see her wide, blue eyes staring back at me, the angry fire is replaced by a smoldering heat of want.
“I was going to wash your things for you,” she says simply, as if digging through someone else’s bag without their knowing is a customary thing around here.
Shit, maybe it is.
I reluctantly release her arm and try not to eye her pink, pouty lips, which I know from experience taste fucking delicious.
“Where I come from, that isn’t cool, Lene,” I tell her firmly.
She frowns. “Where I come from, it’s considered a nice, welcoming gesture. You’re here, where I’m from, so I think it’d be proper for you to accept our way of doing things. I do expect an apology now.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. The cute little thing sees absolutely nothing wrong with sneaking into a stranger’s room and looking through their things without permission. I want to tell her that she’s the crazy one, but I don’t. Instead, I do something completely out of character for me, a man who’s on his way to be an attorney—I concede without argument.
“You’re right, Lene. I’m sorry. My clothes are in dire need of washing, so thank you.”
Her eyes skitter down my bare chest, and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. I watch her cheeks turn slightly pink. It’s in this moment that I realize she’s changed clothes and pulled her wet hair into a messy bun. Her navy-blue sundress hugs her curves slightly, and now, I’m embarrassed at what the sight is doing to my own body. She looks hot as hell.
Quickly, I turn my back to her. “Let me grab a few things from there and get dressed. I’ll give you the rest to wash,” I tell her hoarsely. I’m mentally trying to calm down a certain part of my body that seems more than eager to say hi.
I feel a small hand flutter lightly across the muscles of my upper back. The simple touch sends a current of electricity through my body.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I just had to touch you.” She quickly removes her hand and scampers out the door, shutting it loudly behind her.
Well, hell. Now I need another shower. This time, a really cold one.
