Drew had taken off her cardigan and kicked off her boots, and was in the process of unzipping her leather tube top. She slowly pulled it from her body, her eyes not leaving his, and dropped it on the floor. She wore a strapless lacy black bra underneath. Her hands moved to the waistband of her shorts and she unbuttoned then unzipped them.
Heath was momentarily frozen, unable to resist the carnal part of himself and do anything more than watch, but when she started to slowly inch her shorts over her hips, and he caught the sight of a matching black lace thong, he snapped out of it.
"Drew!" he exclaimed, averting his eyes. "Stop."
"Heath, I'm trying to let you know you can have this," she said, letting her shorts drop off her legs. She stepped out of them and toward him, and as soon as her hands landed on him, his body stirred to life immediately. He shifted uncomfortably as his pants started to grow tight, just below his waist.
"I know you want it," she whispered and pressed against him, taking one of his hands and wrapping it around her back, letting it settle on her hip. His fingers grazed the lace of her underwear and the smooth, soft skin of the top of her rear end. His body surged at the sensation, and he stepped back from her, still keeping his gaze off her. If he looked at her, he was dead. He knew he would slam her into the mattress and take her like she was all but begging him to do right now.
She's drunk, he told himself firmly. You're better than this.
"Drew, go to bed," he said abruptly. "Come on. You're blitzed. You don't even know what you're saying right now."
Her hands slipped down to his shirt and started to slowly pop open the buttons. With each button undone, his resolve began to weaken, little by little.
"Sure I do," she whispered into his neck, and he actually shivered. He bit back the curse that bubbled to his lips at the sensation and sighed, gathering his willpower. He closed his hands around her waist, lifted her bodily, and slammed her onto the bed. Her hazy, slightly bloodshot eyes widened a little and she started to smile. The smile quickly disappeared when he yanked the covers over her, still not allowing himself to take a real look at her body, and tucked the blankets in tightly around her.
"Are you serious?" she demanded, staring up at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Drew, I'm not going to do this with you while you're drunk," he said softly, looking down at her. He had to bite back a smile at the look of drunken fury on her face as the covers violently shifted as she sat up.
"What, am I not good enough or something?" she demanded. "'Cause I'm not one of those plastic bitches from your fan club?"
"You're actually perfect," he replied calmly. "I just have way too much respect for you to do this when you're wasted."
"Yeah?" she barreled on, obviously not really hearing him. "Well, fuck you!"
"Good night, Drew," he said gently. "See you tomorrow." He turned for the door.
"You're not invited anymore!" she bellowed after him, and her alarm clock came sailing over his shoulder, just clearing it. Rocky heard the noise and shot past Heath's legs and onto her bed.
He glanced back at her, taking in the covers clutched to her chest and her tousled, wild hair. His hand closed over the doorknob and he gave her a wistful half-smile.
"Yeah, I am," he said softly. Her chest heaved with rage. "Good night."
He could still hear her cussing at him as he shut the door behind him and left her apartment. Once he was outside, he blew a hard breath between his lips as he climbed behind the wheel of his car. He'd tried not to look, but he couldn't get the image of her in her black lace bra and thong with her smudged eye makeup and tousled hair out of his brain, and his body wasn't letting him forget it, either.
"I deserve a medal for that shit," he muttered to himself, then started the car and headed for home.
Chapter Fourteen
Drew woke up with a splitting headache and, for a blessed few moments, no recollection of the previous evening.
She tried to sit up off of automatic reflex and as a sharp, shooting pain assaulted her head, she fell back against her pillows, groaning. She brought a shaky hand to her forehead as she swallowed against the nausea rising in her throat. After a few deep breaths, the nausea passed and she laid very still, her hand clamped over her eyes to keep the daylight out of them.
She needed water and aspirin, and a cup of strong, black coffee, so after mustering up her strength, she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She shoved the comforter back and rose unsteadily to her feet, noting that the clock that normally sat on her nightstand was missing when she checked the time. She took one step and realized she was practically naked. She gasped and looked down, seeing her black strapless bra was askew and she was in nothing else but a black lace thong. Her eyes flew to the pile of clothes and shoes by the wall and her mind raced, trying to recall the blur that had been the night before. She'd worked her last shift at Cliff's. Her sisters and Bunz had plied her with shots. And they had danced. Then Heath had brought her home.