Shacking Up(33)

"Right. Yeah." He grabs one from the rack and hands it to me as I step out of the shower.

"Thank you." Since the danger of being burned by water has passed, I'm now appropriately embarrassed. As I should be. Especially with the way Bancroft looks like he's trying to hold back his smile. "Do not laugh at me."

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, his cheek ticking. "I guess it's a good thing you didn't wait until tomorrow to shower or you would've been stuck in there until the hot water ran out."

"It was like being blasted by a volcano."

"It's not that hot. There's a sensor that won't let the temperature get too high. I'm not sure why you didn't just run past the jets and save yourself, but I'll take white knight status."

"I have sensitive skin and I panicked," I reply.

"Too bad you didn't panic after you were naked. I didn't even get to see anything good."

My mouth drops. "So much for being a white knight."

His grins widens. "I still saved you from my molten lava shower."

"Only because you thought you were going to see me naked, apparently."

His eyes drop again, slowly perusing my body until he reaches my feet, where a puddle has formed. "I can be a white knight with a dirty mind, can't I?"

"You know what would be really nice?" I pull the towel tighter around me.

"What's that?" It takes a while before his gaze finally reaches mine. There's heat in it. The kind that makes me want to drop my towel and strip out of my clothes. The kind that begs the question, what kind of dirty happens in that mind of his? I'd capitalize on that hungry look he's wearing-if I wasn't relying on this man for a place to live while I sort out my messed-up life. 

I clear my throat and try to come across as affronted, rather than turned on. "It'd be nice if you'd stop making fun of me and show me how to use your space-age shower."

"You're a little high strung, aren't you?" He's still smiling. It's as sexy as it is infuriating.

I just give him a look, more because I'm worried about what might come out of my mouth right now if I don't keep it shut.

Bancroft shows me what each button is for. It turns out I can actually set the temperature. This is a crazy high-tech shower. He adjusts the spray to rainfall and I tell him when it's the right temperature for me.

"Seriously?" he asks, feeling the tepid water.

"I told you my skin was sensitive."

"This is lukewarm."

"So? It's not like you're getting in there with me. What's it matter to you?"

His eyebrow dip, along with his eyes. "You wouldn't need hot water if I was getting in there with you." He smirks at my semi-fake outraged gasp. "I'll leave you to it."

I watch his ass leave the bathroom-and the rest of him, but it's his finely sculpted rear view that's my focus. And his fucking ankle socks. I don't know why they bother me so much.

Once I hear the door to my room close-my very nice, large room-I strip out of my wet clothes and step under the spray. It's a little on the cool side, but I'd rather that than the inferno water. Also, I could use a little cooling down after that.

The rain showerhead is so nice, the water pressure far superior to that in my old apartment. After a few minutes, I bump up the temperature a degree or two, because Bancroft is right, it's pretty cool, and now that he's not heating up the room with his comments and his hotness, I can make up for it with water temperature.

Once I'm done it takes me another five minutes to find a reasonable outfit. Everything I own is a wrinkly mess since it's been packed in suitcases for the past two days, but there's not much I can do about that. I can't even find a pair of decent underwear, so I'm forced to go commando, and all I can locate in the bottoms department that's even remotely reasonable is a pair of running shorts, a cami with a built-in bra, and a loose tank to throw over it.

It's not like I'm trying to impress Bancroft. Or seduce him with my sexy outfits. Not while I'm depending on him for a roof over my head. That could make things messy. But that doesn't mean I can't flirt.

Bancroft is stretched out on the couch watching sports with Francesca curled up in his lap. Right on top of his penis. What a whore. I wish I was her.

He glances over. "Looks like you recovered from the shower trauma."

"Ha ha." My lounger has been moved into the living room alongside the funky oversized chair. It looks even more dilapidated beside his nice furniture. "Did you pick this chair?"

"No. My mother did. She likes furniture a lot. She thinks this place doesn't have enough"-he flops his hand around-"personality or whatever."

"Ah. Do you agree with her?"

Bancroft shrugs. "She was excited that I was moving back to New York and I was recovering from knee surgery, so interior decorating wasn't high on my list of priorities. She's always been involved in that part of the hotels so I let her do her thing here because it makes her happy."