Page 36 of Shadow Hunter

An hour later, Damon had thoroughly scrubbed down the kitchen, returning it to a near sparkling clean. He’d give it another once over later. Right now, he needed a shower. Using the downstairs bathroom, he scrubbed all the blood, guts, and debris from his body. When he’d finished, he wrapped his hips in a towel, threw his own clothes in the washer, and padded up

the stairs to his bedroom.

Water from the shower inside the bathroom pummeled the tiled floor, sounding like heavy rain. He didn’t blame Tiffany for the extra-long shower. When you washed the blood off, no matter how clean you got, sometimes you still felt dirty.

He finished drying off and threw his towel into the laundry bin, before he slipped on a pair of old, loose-fitting jeans, then reached into the top of his closet for a shirt.

Only for Tiffany to clear her throat from behind him.

Shirt in hand, he turned around.Shit.

His breath caught in his throat, and every inch of him stiffened.

Tiffany was standing in the middle of his bedroom, still damp from the shower, one of his towels wrapped around her. One tiny rectangle of a towel. He swallowed, hard.

Thinking about what was underneath that towel would be the death of him.

Silently, Tiffany scanned the length of his body, an obvious look of appreciation in her eyes as she bit her lower lip. Fuck, if she looked at him that way much longer...

Slowly, she took a single step toward him.

Damon growled, low in his throat. “What are you doing, Shortcake?”

Couldn’t she take a hint? He wanted to do right by her damn it.

“Looking for another towel, or a blow dryer, that’s all,” she said innocently.

“Out here? In my bedroom?” he asked, his suspicion obvious.

She shrugged her shoulders, a wicked little smile crossing her face she feigned innocence. “Where else would it be?”

He watched as she made her way toward him, hips swaying slow and steady.

Immediately, he cursed himself.

What was he doing? This was Mark’s little sister. She was twenty-two, her own woman, and though she didn’t realize he’d known her for years—he owed it to her brother’s memory to stay away, to keep his hands off. Didn’t he?

But that excuse was wearing thinner by the second.

Especially when she wanted him so clearly.

She met his eyes quickly, then lowered her own gaze to the floor again. “So, do you have any more towels?”

He pointed to the bathroom. “Under the sink.”

She stood directly in front of him then, those large doe eyes staring up at him from beneath a layer of dark, thick lashes. “I didn’t see any,” she whispered innocently.

This woman would be the death of him. He was certain.

Exercising every bit of self-control he had, he walked past her to the bathroom. Reaching under the sink, he felt around for any stray towels. Finally, he found one tucked far in the back corner. He pulled it out, ready to take it to her, only to find her standing directly behind him. Those large amber eyes were examining his torso again, lingering on the muscles leading from his chest to his hips.

He couldn’t resist. “Like what you see, Shortcake?”

“Yes,” she breathed. Her eyes went wide, almost as if she’d surprised herself with the blunt admission.

The deep red blush that burned across her cheeks had his cock practically weeping.

Fuck, he’d never been so hard.

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