Page 48 of Too Cursed To Kiss
“Perhaps she wanted to see how you’d handle a precious family heirloom. Agatha loves to play games. You’d have toask her. But we need to get that album back.” He grimaced. “Do you want to shower first?” he asked.
The low tone was close to a purr. My heart skipped a beat. “How about together? For speed?” I asked, cocking my head.
He laughed, further melting my insides. “I highly doubt that would speed things up. Besides the fact that you need time to heal,” he replied brusquely, sliding the bathroom door shut with a finality that ruined the moment.
I slumped in disappointment, scooting to the edge of the bed, careful to not upset my bruised and battered parts. I made it to the suitcase and unzipped it.
It wasn’t my suitcase. It was Britannia’s. I looked around, but there was only the velvet box from the car and Wald’s duffel. The bitch had taken mine. They were identical, but still…
I set the black T-shirt on top aside and pulled out the most stunning lace underwear I’d ever had my claws on. The kind of stuff that costs hundreds of dollars and was made with craftsmanship, built like a fine automobile, the boning perfectly holding the fabric stiff. It was fricking pink. Pink? Wait, that was wrong. Britannia liked red and black. She’d stated that—hell no. Why was she sporting underwear that Wald found attractive? I dropped the bra like a cockroach, ready to stomp on it and kill it dead. No matter how gorgeous it was, scalding pokers couldn’t make me wear it.
I rummaged through the other, thankfully, black and red contents, finding another sexy catsuit. From the first silky touch, I’d already decided it was mine. The miniskirts that I could wear over it gave me style choices. I was deciding between blue plaid and black with flounces when the bathroom door slid back. I turned with the clothing in my hands feeling like a kid caught with stolen cookies.
“The black, definitely,” he said, toweling his hair. “It’s all yours.” He nodded at the bathroom, striding over to the bed, the towel around his waist too well tucked for accidents, but I still marveled at the ease with which he moved. At home in his skin.
“Are you going to explain what exactly happened at Agatha’s? And I’m sorry about your aunt. I don’t think I said that.”
He turned, his chest a marvel of muscle and ribs. “Thank you. I will miss her. Artifacts are tricky. I’ll ask her what happened when we get the album back.”
“Huh? Oh.” The lightbulb came on. Agatha would now have a place in the album, and he might be able to speak to her. This passing thing had advantages. I wondered what her photo would look like.
Wald turned away and dropped the towel around his waist. He threw his hair back in the manly way a guy with long hair might—if you mixed that with an animal bristling its back to get the water out of its fur. The fluidic movement was stunning. His ass, well, you’ve seen the statue of Michelangelo’s David? No? Neither have I, but I’ve seen pictures. Wald’s ass was the same smooth perfection. I closed my mouth and hightailed it to the bathroom before he caught me drooling.
The mirror stopped me cold. My face was covered with little healing cuts, streaks of blood, and eyes with dark circles. My hair could only be described as a limp rat’s nest made of string. I pulled off the shredded corselette Wald had poorly re-laced, revealing the mess of my chest. With shallow breaths, I examined the damage. The bruises were pink, purple, and red with tinges of black and yellow. I might have sold them as modern art, but it was art I would rather notwear. The bandage was still stuck to my side, and I decided I could keep it pretty dry by facing away from the spray.
The shower water stung at first, but heat eased the aching, and I lingered in it long enough to feel guilty. There’s something about clean hair that makes things better. I pulled the towels off the door and wrapped one around my hair, the other around me the best I could. Apparently Vegas hotel towels were designed for models who didn’t eat. Steam buffeted out as I stepped onto the bathmat. The bathroom’s sliding door was open, and Wald was leaning against the doorframe. He had sunglasses on.
“You take a long shower, Tails.” His lips turned up on one side as his gaze locked onto the gape in the towel.
“You were watching?” I tucked the towel tighter.
“Easy there. I would never invade your personal space without your permission.” He came toward me, and my heart did flip-flops.
“Let me see the wound.” His accent turned it erotic. The size of him enveloped the space between the bed and the bathroom door. He reached for my towel but his hand hovered waiting for me to act.
I let the towel slide to the floor. Wald’s head dipped. Behind his glasses, golden eyes roved from my toes to my tits. I shifted under the scrutiny, then grabbed his hand, pressing it against my side. My heart danced the salsa as his fingers probed the edges of the bandage. The delicacy of his touch countered the strength of his hands sliding over my skin. In one smooth rip, he peeled the leaves off, and I almost came.
“It looks very good.” His ragged voice scraped against my ability to remain standing.
“Just good?” It came out as a breathy squeak.
“Even better than I ever dreamed.” He trailed fingersacross my stomach, sending a tremor down to my thighs. Electricity arced between them. God, I wanted him.
I pressed a palm against his satiny chest and slid it up to his neck, tugging his head down to my level.
“We should get on our way,” he whispered.
“Maybe later,” I teased, my lips a hair’s breadth away from his.
His tongue darted out, and I caught it between my teeth, then let it go.
“Didn’t I mention…”
“Not to bite you unless I meant it?”
The kiss exploded, and he walked me back, so his hands caged me against the wall as his mouth devoured mine. His hands explored all my exposed surfaces like he was unwrapping a hundred birthday presents.
I was undoing his belt buckle when he pulled back. “We can’t,” he panted, dipping his head. I glowed that he was out of breath for me.
