Page 12 of Ruin Me, Daddy

What the hell kind of hotel had blinds like that?

Groaning at the throbbing pain in her head, she rolled over. Then blinked at the bottle of water sitting on her bedside table, alongside two white pills.

Maybe Drunk Silver had been thinking ahead, but it seemed unlikely. Slowly pushing up in the bed, she looked around the unfamiliar room. It was too lived-in for a hotel room. Which meant she’d come home with someone last night.

Panic tightened like a band around her chest at the thought. And the realization that she couldn’t remember who she’d come home with.

But then a faint, familiar scent filled her nose as she breathed in deeply, and the tension in her shoulders drained instantly. Ice. That was who she’d come home with.

And he’d made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With grape jelly. Her favorite, even though he hated the stuff.

The throbbing at her temples was still going strong, so she twisted the top off the water and grabbed the pills. She swallowed them down, then drained the bottle. Partly because she was thirsty and partly because she knew from experience Daddy Ice would be hounding her all day to stay hydrated, especially after a night of indulgence like the one she’d just had.

Honestly, she was somewhat surprised not to find him sleeping on the floor beside her bed. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d kept watch over her after a night of drunken shenanigans.

Back then, she’d just seen such things as the actions of a good, if somewhat overly concerned friend. But looking back at those memories now, knowing he’d been in love with her all those years…

Jesus. How fucking stupid was she?

Her head was still aching too much to give the question the thought it deserved, so she put it out of her mind for the time being and carefully made her way to the bathroom. The memories of the night before were coming more clearly now, which meant she really hadn’t been too terribly wasted, thank god. But with that clarity came the familiar twinge of embarrassment.

And if she was embarrassed by her behavior, what must Ice think of how she’d acted?

Dread sat like a lead weight in her stomach. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply through her nose, holding the breath in her lungs for a slow count of six before releasing it again.

Ice isn’t him. He isn’t going to be pissed at you for having a few too many drinks. You’re being a fucking baby.

There was probably something very wrong with her that berating herself the way her ex regularly had was oddly soothing and did more to ease the sickness in her gut than the breathing exercises. Something to discuss with her therapist when she made her way back home, she supposed.

Feeling steadier, she finished her bathroom routine and padded barefoot out into the living room. Which was where she found Ice, seated on a pretty teal couch, his reading glasses perched on his nose and a thick book in his hands. His hair was wet and loose, telling her he’d showered, and he hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt afterwards. Just the sight of a shirtless Ice was enough to make her mouth water, with all those rippling muscles and the ink all but covering his chest. Ruthless, one of his tattoos said, and as someone who had been on the receiving end of his particular brand of sadism, she happened to agree with the sentiment. And unless it was her imagination, he’d been working out more than usual, because he looked even more cut than he had on Roulette night. Add in the slight nerdiness of the glasses and the book in his hand, and the whole package had every nerve in her body thrumming with need.

Why the fuck was that so hot?

He looked up then and the breath in her lungs seemed to freeze at the intensity of his gaze. As if there was nothing and no one else in the world that mattered to him in that moment but her.

The last and only other time a man had looked at her like that had been him, during their turns at Roulette.

In another lifetime, she was certain that look would have made her swoon. Whatever the hell ‘swooning’ even was. Right now, she was too exhausted for anything more than a small smile. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Picking up his phone, he glanced down at the screen, a smile tugging at his lips. “Or I suppose I should say, afternoon.”

“Shit, really?” Wincing, she ran a hand over her unruly curls. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

“Doesn’t bother me.” Now he was watching her again, with that same single-minded intensity as he rose from the couch and crossed the room to stand in front of her. Pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted her head back, studying her. “You look… rested.”

“I slept like the dead. Thanks, um, for letting me crash here last night.”

“Welcome. Did you drink your water?”

She rolled her eyes and his grip tightened in response, making her heart race. “Yes, I drank my water.”

“Good girl.”

The air between them seemed to come alive with the same electric need buzzing along her skin. It was an innocuous enough phrase, one he’d playfully used a hundred times before. But the last time she’d heard those words had been during their interrogation scene, after she’d just finished spilling some of her darkest secrets to him. Right before he’d kissed her for the first time.

Right before both their lives had changed forever.

Judging by the way his expression hardened, he was remembering, too. And then he stepped back, pulling his hand away, and the moment was lost.

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