I smiled down at the smoky brown liquor in my hand, knowing it would help take the edge off and make me look a little more natural. I was at home. I didn’t know why I was having so much trouble looking less awkward.
“I, uh, don’t have anything to wear,” Sasha’s voice came from behind as I raised the glass to my lips.
I paused for just a moment and tilted my head. I downed my whiskey in one gulp, as if it had been a single shot. The smooth burn melted off my anxiety. I expected—and hoped—to see her standing naked just inside the dining room.
She wasn’t far from naked, though, with just a towel wrapped around her breasts and reaching down just far enough to hide the prize waiting for me between her legs. I poured another glass before walking around to her.
Her skin looked so much softer, smoother after her shower. Her hair, not quite dry yet, was still clinging to her neck and the back of her shoulders. I ran a hand up one of her slender arms. She was so much thinner out of those clothes! Her skin was silky smooth.
“I guess you can’t walk around naked, can you?” I asked her.
I grabbed one of her hands and put the whiskey glass in it. She took a sip from it and stared at me with those intense blue eyes. She didn’t even wince as she swallowed a pretty thirsty gulp of the amber liquor. She handed the glass back to me as I ran a hand down along her wet hair.
We were almost the same height. She was just a few inches shorter, enough difference that we didn’t quite see eye to eye standing next to each other. My shoulders engulfed her. I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her against me, to protect her, but I also knew she didn’t need or want protecting. This woman could stand on her own and carry her own weight.
“You wouldn’t happen to have anything that would fit me, would you?” she asked shyly.
“Right, clothes. Come on, we’ll find something.” I walked into my closet and looked through my hanging shirts. I had a few dress shirts that would look perfect on her. I grabbed one and pulled it off the hanger to hand it to her.
“Any shorts or anything I can borrow? I’m sorry to be so needy,” she apologized, “but I wasn’t planning on getting caught.”
I laughed as I pulled out some boxers, searching for a pair that was tight on me.
“Something told me not to get rid of these,” I said, tossing an older pair of boxer shorts over to her.
“Are you going to stand around and watch me? Or can I have a little privacy?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ll be in the living room,” I told her, stepping out of the bedroom and pulling the door closed behind me. I stood with my back against the door for a moment, hoping to hear some sign that she was getting dressed, but all was silent behind the door. Plus, the TV in the living room was loud enough to drown out anything I might have heard anyway.
“Soon enough,” I said under my breath as I walked away from my bedroom door back to my spot on the couch.
A few moments later, she walked out in my shirt and boxers. My shirt swallowed her, but I could see her tan skin through the white fabric, stirring the same desire I felt for her back in the basement at HQ.
“Do you have any more of that whiskey?” she asked as she walked into the living room.
“Sure. Let me fix you a glass.” I took a drink from mine and got up for a refill and a glass for her.
She sat down on the couch across from where I’d been sitting. When I came back into the living room, I walked up behind her and passed the glass over her shoulder. I watched as her gentle, thin fingers wrapped around the glass and took it from me.
“So, tell me a little about yourself, Sasha Winters,” I said as I sat back down across from her.
“I’ve already told you everything there is to know,” she said, crossing her long, thin, tanned and toned legs. Every inch of her body, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, was delicious. I wanted a taste.
“No, tell me how you got into the business,” I told her, sitting back.
“That’s a long story, Cole, and I don’t think we’re at that point yet,” she said. She stared at her glass with a contemplative look in her eye. The playful humor was gone from her voice now.
“I’m sorry. I guess we need to play by the same rules we had back in the basement. I ask, and you answer only if you feel comfortable. How does that sound?” I asked with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood again.
“I don’t know that I want to play,” she said, getting up from the couch and walking around to the back of the living room to look up at the abstract painting I had hanging on the wall opposite the TV.