Free UndercoverSurrender by Angela Claire Page B

about to
take advantage of that—well, it was daunting. And the fact that he was gorgeous
and a really good kisser was the last straw. Could she be any more humiliated?
    She heard the shower switch off and pushed the palms of her
hands against her eyes, hopefully stemming any further wetness, for her own
sake and also because it clearly had annoyed him. When he came out a few
moments later, bare-chested, rubbing a towel against his wet hair with only a
pair of shorts around his lean hips, she made a resolution.
    She was so not going to floss tonight.
     
    Samantha hadn’t moved. He noticed that was getting to be a
pattern with her. It should make her seem more tractable, that he left her in
one place and when he came back she was in exactly the same place, but it had
the opposite affect somehow. It made her seem more in tractable. As if
she was a chess piece he was going to have to move around in order to win the
game.
    He dropped the towel casually on a chair and went to the
side of the bed facing the door, the one opposite the lamp. It happened to be
the side she was sitting on.
    “Go on. Get in bed.”
    She didn’t move.
    “I’m not going to argue with you about this.” He heard a
telltale hiccup and to try to ward it off, he offered, “Why don’t you go take a
shower. You’ll feel better.”
    “I’m fine.”
    He leaned down and peeled the oversize tee shirt off her
before she could react. He knew she wouldn’t be naked under it anyway and it
was damn hot. She crossed her arms quickly over the camisole she was left in.
“There, that’s better. I’d take those huge shorts off too, but I’m sure I’d
have to wrestle you for that and I’m too tired. So just lie down and switch off
the light.”
    She scooted over on the bed, the better to stay out of his
reach probably, but she made no move to turn off the lamp, just stared at him
with those wide brown eyes, although at least they were dry now. He folded back
the sheets on the bed and slid into it. The sheets were astonishingly luxurious
compared to what he was used to, probably one thousand thread count. He turned
the light off himself, reaching over her.
    “Now shut up and go to sleep.”
    After a minute, she lay down on top of the sheet.
    “Underneath the sheet,” he grumbled, pleased a moment later
when she obeyed him, although she left a wide space between them and turned her
back to him.
    That was fine with him. He followed suit, turning onto his
side, faced away from her. He needed some time to think, since he hadn’t
devoted much time to that in the shower as he pumped his cock dry to the
thought of the lovely Samantha, mortified as she would undoubtedly be at the
knowledge. He had to figure out what his next step in this mission should be.
    He got about a minute of peace and quiet before it started
up again. That choked, suppressed version of sobbing. Low, but discernible. And
for some reason, understandable as it was, it bugged the shit out of him.
    He didn’t know whether to comfort her or to really give her
something to cry about.
    He chose the middle road instead, muttering, “If you’re
going to cry, go in the shower and do it.”
    She hiccupped, apparently trying to stifle the sound, which
just made it worse.
    “Oh no, that’s right,” he needled her. “You’re afraid to go
in the shower because you’re afraid I’ll pounce on your naked body.”
    “Shut up,” she managed to say, swallowing her tears still by
the sound of it.
    He sat up, glaring at her hunched-over shoulders at the top
of the tiny little corner of the bed she had allowed herself, apparently
convinced it was paramount that their bodies never be within two feet of each
other. “Will you go in the shower and just have a good cry already? Get it all
out so we can both get some sleep here. I promise I won’t join you in the
shower and I promise I won’t peek.”
    She sat up too and glared right back, though the effect was
muted by the near-darkness in the room.