Page 677 of One More Kiss

In vain, my palms try to soften the impact of fast flowing water, to lessen the high velocity whipping. He thumbs the nozzle, turning a powerful spurt into a spritz of hazy mist.

“Palms to the wall.” His instruction lashes harder than any strike.

Spray catches on my lashes. I blink in the sight of his face, watching his gaze slide to my hardened nipples beneath drenched fabric. His tanned forehead creases, concentration or unwanted desire simmering behind his eyes. A pouty lower lip slips between his teeth as he douses the flame blazing from his formidable stare to mine.

“I ordered you to turn around. Clearly, you’re asking for punishment.”

I swallow, hurriedly sweep the hair from my cheeks, and inch into the wall backwards. “You don’t have to be so cruel. I have no weapons or even a reason to be involved in your world.”

He arcs the jet to create a prismatic rainbow where darkness rules. “Cruel?” he muses. “Didn’t you hear my father? You’re not welcome in our house. He’ll shoot you in a heartbeat and pour a whiskey afterwards as if it never happened. That’s cruel—if you truly are innocent. Is that what you want, sweet little liar?” I shake my head, scattering haphazard beads of water everywhere. “Your polluted clothes make me gag. Your sullied feet make my veins hiss and your blood smeared skin resurrects feelings inside of me that we both would rather I kept buried.”

A cylindrical bottle skids to a halt at my toes. “Clothes off,” he growls like his temper is tugging on a thin leash.

I fight the urge to surrender, my pulse thrumming louder than the icy fluid splashing concrete. After a quick scan of the courtyard, I note we’re alone. There aren’t any armed guards nearby, only a few discreetly positioned security cameras so his staff can watch my pride disintegrate at a distance. I accept there’s no one here to help. It’s just me and him in this open air power shower for one.

“Use the shower gel. I’ve sent the staff on other errands. We’re alone. Now strip or I’ll cut your filthy clothes off with my blade.”

I’ve dealt with honorable men in my life—men who took care of me, protected me from evil, who offered respect. Yet never have I endured an adult devil such as Tomás Souza.

His crude order to strip naked is a step too far. A cutting demand for a reticent girl like me. There’s not a single male on this planet who’s seen the flesh beneath my clothes. It’s deeply personal—and intimate.

A shiver of anxiety heats the absurdity of my body, not being good enough for him. Of transforming into the ugly duckling all over again.

“Turn around.” He orders on a sigh. “You didn’t expect to shower fully clothed, did you?” My hands fist by my thighs and I stay rooted to the twinkling puddle of water lapping at my feet.

He stares at me, unmoving and utterly in control. I hesitate, returning his stare with as much backbone as I can muster.

“If you’ve nothing to hide from me, then removing your clothes won’t be an issue.”

I swallow hard, furious and tired of this unfair situation. “I can't… It’s inappropriate.”

“Don’t be shy,” he replies with a deep mocking rumble, clearly unaware of how his monumental request teases me. “I’ve enjoyed the sight of many naked women. You’re not the first to strip for me, and you won’t be the last.”

I don't want to do it out of principle. However, I’m interested to know if I’m truly any different from all the rest. “If you’ve seen it all before, then you won’t be missing anything important. It’s not as if I’m packing lies or stashing weapons under here.”

An abrupt grunt escapes from his throat. I can’t quite tell if it’s laughter or a flippant snort. Then the corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly. It quirks in a flash, so I doubt it ever happened in the first place. He pivots the hose ninety degrees, temporarily removing the spray.

“Strip,” he orders, low and controlled.

His left hand hunts the chain circling his throat to reposition the precious metal as if it's tightening around his neck or he’s thinking about choking me.

In the seconds of a reprieve, I fight for air and clear clingy strands of hair away from my face.

“Do not make me wait,” he warns, clearly unamused by my stubbornness to remain dressed. “Show me you’re willing to obey me.”

“You’re an asshole!” I snarl, each word biting out like he’s choking them from me.

“I’ll give you to the count of three and if you don’t show obedience, I’ll search every single part of your body for hidden secrets. Every. Single. Hole… One.” He begins to count, completely unfazed and frustratingly expectant.

I take my time to drag the saturated top up and over my head and tentatively unclip my flimsy bra. Strands of hair flop, the dripping lengths sticking to goosebumps on my skin.

“Two.” Tomás announces the word loudly, like he’s playing a game of adult hide and seek. I unbutton the shorts next, bending so my small breasts hang, and lower them to my ankles. “Three,” he says calmly before I step out of them.

As he claims the final number, he aims the hose behind me and sweeps his gaze over every inch of me. Those serious eyes of his burn into my flesh like he’s a human x-ray hunting for malignant lies. Yet I don't detect disappointment on his face, rather something indecipherable instead.

I desperately wish for the wall to crack open and allow me to slither inside, to hide from his avid inspection. As much as it scares me to be so brazen and bare, I’m aroused by his authority and even more by his wandering curiosity. I lower my lashes to free myself from the disconcerting tingles, making parts of me wet where even the water can’t reach.

When I finally pluck up the courage to meet his eyes, those perfectly symmetrical lips of his part. They don’t dance to a sneering smile or creep to a smirk of antipathy.

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