Sophie Jordan - Tease

Enough for me to remember that I did not fling myself at guys like him. I settled back on my side of the truck, my gaze turning wary as I watched him, his jaw locked and tense, eyes glittering with a predatory light. He looked like he wanted to say something . . . or do something. Like maybe haul me into his lap.

I tensed. I knew better than to tease guys who couldn’t be managed. It was a line I never crossed except I just had.

A horn honked behind us. He blinked and turned his attention to the road.

I willed him to hurry, to get us across town so that I could dive into my dorm and forget tonight. Forget him.

He stared straight ahead, one hand draped casually over the top of the steering wheel. “I don’t think you’re the bad girl you pretend to be. Not even close.”

I compressed my lips and watched the blur of lights flash past as we entered the city. No point in arguing. Not unless I wanted to prove to him that I was a bad girl, and I didn’t dare do that.

“You’re drunk,” he announced. “Tomorrow you’ll wake up in your warm bed and not even remember my name.”

I sank deeper into the seat, bringing my legs up to curl on the bench. The fog of euphoria shrouding me began to fade away. My head was starting to throb, pulse right at the temples. My heavy lids slid shut, instantly easing some of the pressure that was building between my ears. I’d rest them for just a moment. Until he got to campus and then I’d tell him which dorm.

Shaw. His name flitted across my fading consciousness. I’d remember. I’d remember his name.

IT TOOK PRECISELY FIVE seconds upon waking to realize that I was naked. Well. Mostly. I was wearing my panties and bra. My gaze shot around the room, and my next thought to chug through my mind was even more alarming. Where the hell was I?

The bed was big and comfortable. A contrast to my single bed back in the dorm. Not as big as the California king I had back home, but I spent so little time there that this bed felt vast and beyond strange to me. It smelled good, too. Like soap and freshly laundered sheets.

I racked my brain for memories of the night before. Not too difficult. I wasn’t so drunk that I couldn’t remember. I recalled perfectly Annie ditching me. And I remembered Shaw.

Shaw.

Oh. Hell. He was imprinted on my brain like a fire-burning brand. Shaw, who’d offered to drive me home. I closed my eyes in a slow, pained blink. And I’d accepted that offer. I’d gotten into his truck—in the truck of some hot, dangerous biker boy.

I yanked up the covers and looked down at my body as if I could identify evidence of . . . well. Sex.

My eyes burned, tears prickling the back of my throat. My last memory was of sitting in his truck. And—God—I had licked his throat. What happened after that?

My body looked the same as it always did. Slightly flaring hips that just barely saved me from looking like an eleven-year-old boy. Less than impressive breasts. Skin too pale, but bearing no marks. Still, I was hardly satisfied. I wriggled around, trying to detect any difference, any physical sensation that might reveal the effects of last night’s activities. I mean I would know if had sex. Right? Tears pressed hotter against the backs of my eyes as the possibility sank in that maybe I had and didn’t even know it. God. I was trapped in an episode of 60 Minutes.

This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t be here.

My flight instinct kicked in. I needed to get out of here. I scanned the room, looking for my clothes. Bare wood walls stared back at me. I was in a single room, large and airy despite the darkness of the walls. Light streamed in from several windows in the kitchen area. A pair of double glass doors to the left of the bed granted me a marginal view of the outside world. I glimpsed blue skies and snow-draped ground. Morning light glinted off the bare, ice-crusted branches of a large tree just beyond this door.

Silence shrouded me. Only the faint hum of the heater purred softly on the still air. It was as though I were the only person left on the planet. Definitely the only person in this house. Where was Shaw? Off abducting another girl?

An overstuffed armchair sat near a fireplace where logs smoldered and flickered red-gold. My clothes were draped across that chair. Spread out almost neatly.

Wrapping the blanket around my body, I hopped to my feet. The sudden movement made my head spin. I swayed, pressing a palm to the side of my face, as though that could stop the tiny hammers beating at my temples. Instantly I vowed never to drink again. As in never. True, I’ve made this vow before, but this time I meant it.

I scurried toward the chair, nearly tripping over the blanket dragging at my feet. With a grunt, I grabbed it and whipped the fabric up and over my arm. When I reached the chair, I looked around furtively and dropped the blanket. Snatching up my clothes, I dressed as quickly as I could. Sinking down into the plush chair, I worked one boot on my foot. I was reaching for the next one when the sound of thuds reached my ears.

I froze, my pulse jackknifing against my throat. Everything slowed as those footsteps grew louder, closer, putting a swift end to the otherworldly silence. The door pushed open and Shaw stepped inside the space. Several logs overflowed in his arms. His gaze immediately landed on me. He paused in the threshold. I watched him, immobilized, feeling like a hare caught in the sights of a predator.

Then he moved, kicking the door shut behind him with one booted foot. His big body strode across the cabin and I resisted backing away. He stopped and squatted before the fireplace. “You’re up.”

I watched as he started stacking wood into a box beside the fireplace. He didn’t glance at me as I sat there, still frozen, fingers curled tightly around the edges of my boot.

I moistened my lips, trying to find my voice as I watched his arms pull and flex beneath a long-sleeved thermal shirt. A light coating of snow dusted his dark hair and shoulders.

The ability to speak finally returned. “What did you do to me?”

He stopped stacking wood, his gaze flying to my face. I sucked in a breath. Everything about him right then, in the full light of morning, was more. More good looking. More masculine. His eyes brighter, more vivid. The fact that he looked pissed didn’t alter the impact in the least. But it made my stomach knot. I squirmed inside at the intensity of his stare.

“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.