Sophie Jordan - Tease

“I didn’t do anything to you except take care of your drunk ass.”

I swung a finger at the bed. “I woke up in your bed.” I waved an arm. “I assume this is your place.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you undress me?”

His jaw locked. “It was that or let you sleep in wet clothes.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “You fell. In the snow. Remember?”

Yeah. I remembered that. And licking him. I remember that with excruciating clarity. “Where did you sleep?”

His mouth curled in a cocky grin at this question. “Where do you think?”

My face burned hotter. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out where he slept. There weren’t any other bedrooms in this cabin.

He turned his attention back to the wood and answered his own question, sounding a little bored all of a sudden. “On the couch.”

I snorted. “Yeah. Right.” I yanked my boot on the rest of the way and stood. “Let me get this straight. You brought me here. Undressed me. And then slept on the couch?”

He shook his head and rose to his full impressive height, towering over me. “You’re unbelievable. You think I’m looking to score with an unconscious girl?” He looked me over slowly, thoroughly, making me achingly aware that I must look a mess with my bed head and rumpled clothes and day-old makeup. I probably looked like a raccoon from mascara smeared under my eyes. “Sweetheart, you’re not that irresistible.”

I inhaled through my nose. Okay. Maybe I’d insulted him, but he definitely came back swinging. “I’m sorry,” I said, not sounding very apologetic and not caring. “Excuse me for panicking at finding myself half naked in a strange bed.”

“Maybe you should pick better friends who don’t bail on you, so that if you get drunk and pass out you won’t wake up in some strange guy’s bed. I mean, that’s just a suggestion.”

Touché . “You’re an asshole.” It was the best I could do.

He smiled again, but there was no mirth in it. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m sure you have.” I grabbed my coat off the couch and whirled around, marching for the door.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“Home,” I shot back without looking over my shoulder.

“Oh yeah. Cool. How are you going to get there?”

I pulled the door open, stepped out onto the porch, and stopped. The full reality of just how much at his mercy I was washed over me. A winter wonderland stared back at me. The cabin sat back about fifty yards from a frozen lake. Far across the water, I could see other homes and cabins dotting a distant shoreline.

His tread sounded behind me and I whirled around. “Where the hell am I?”

“About half an hour from campus.” He cocked that infuriating eyebrow at me. “Long walk, huh?” He looked down. “And those boots aren’t made for long-distance treks, princess. Especially through snow.”

I bit back my “no shit” response. My hands went to my hips. “How did I end up here? You were supposed to take me to my dorm.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, apparently indifferent to the weather. A cold wind blew, buffeted his shirt against his chest. A well-muscled chest. Lean and hard. I could make out the definition of his pecs and the ridged stomach.

“Now how was I supposed to do that when you passed out and I couldn’t wake you? Oh, and your license has a Connecticut address so no help there. And your phone? Password protected.”

I crossed my arms and glared at him, hating that he was right. I’d done this to myself. It wasn’t his fault. Sure, he was arrogant and rude, but I guess I should thank him and count myself lucky that I didn’t end up with some perv who would take advantage of an unconscious girl. My gaze skimmed him. I couldn’t help it. He was sexy as hell.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

He jerked a hand to his ear as if that could help improve his hearing. “What? What was that? Something semi nice just came out of your mouth? Impossible.”

Seething, I bit out a little louder, “Thank you.” I sucked in a breath and added in a less angry voice, “It was really decent of you to help me out. I’m sorry if I caused you any inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience,” he murmured, smiling.

“Would you please take me home now?”

“Not a problem. I live to help spoiled little Greenwich princesses.”

The way he looked at me said it all. He didn’t think very much of me. The idea stung more than it should have. I was used to guys liking me. At least superficially. And face it, that’s as much as I let them see. I never let them get to the real me, the Em beneath the party girl veneer. Assuming they ever tried. Most were content with simply fooling around. No strings attached.

“This morning, can you tell me where you live—princess? Then I can get on with my day because, believe it or not, I have things to do.”

I bristled. So he thought I led a charmed life . . . that I was a spoiled princess who teased guys by licking them and then passed out like a pathetic drunk. My face burned. I guess he wasn’t that wrong . Except my life was far from charmed.

Not that I was telling him that. Who cared what he thought of me? He could think what he wanted.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to keep you from the things you have to do . . . like plan the next crime wave with your biker gang.”

He grinned again, and I realized he was enjoying this. Me baiting him. Him baiting me. Now that my panic upon waking in a strange place without any clothes on had subsided, I realized I maybe enjoyed it, too.

“Sure. And you don’t want to miss your nail appointment.”

I cocked my head. “That’s tomorrow.”

The sound of his chuckle followed me as I turned and walked off the porch. His truck was unlocked—why wouldn’t it be all the way out here in the middle of nowhere? I yanked open the passenger door and hopped inside.

He climbed in and started the engine. We sat there for a few moments as it warmed up. I stared out at the frozen lake, marveling at the peacefulness of it. I wouldn’t have pictured a place like this as his home. It was . . . nice. Which was weird. He was a biker. Some crapped-out meth house might have been a more accurate image. A stereotype, I knew, but it wasn’t as though he wasn’t stereotyping me.

I slid him a glance. “You live out here long?”

“It was my grandfather’s. He died a year ago and left it to me.”

I quickly faced forward again, my hands squeezing around my knees. It was the first bit of anything real we had exchanged beside taunts, and frankly, it made me uncomfortable. But then he made me uncomfortable. Undeniably. From the first moment I saw him.

“I’m sorry,” I said, because I had to say something. They had been close. The man had left him his house. Obviously they had been close. “About your grandfather.”

He put the truck in reverse and backed out of the property. “He went fishing with a friend, came in, made a sandwich, laid down for a nap, and never woke up. He was eighty-nine. We should all be so lucky.”

I blinked against the illogical burn that suddenly pressed against my eyes. Gazing at the strong line of his profile, I wondered at my sudden surge of emotion. I suppose it came from hearing the love in his voice for this man who had clearly meant so much to him. And his grandfather had obviously cared for him. I wished I had that. I wished I had someone. Honestly, there was no family member who overly cared whether I lived or died. No one in my family would lose sleep if anything bad happened to me.

“Still . . . I’m sure it’s hard. I’m sure you miss him.”

He glanced at me, but there wasn’t any of the derision I was coming to expect. No cocky half grin. He looked at me curiously, almost as if he was surprised I could say anything kind. “Yeah. It is . . . thanks.”