Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men #1)(14)

He still had that rugged sharp face I adored, but his cheekbones and the cleft in his chin looked extra pronounced in the florescent glow of the bathroom light, while his eyes took on a dreamy silver hue.

A very pissed off dreamy silver hue.

Scowling at me, he lifted his thick eyebrows as if to say, “Well?” which reminded me I hadn’t answered his question yet.

Whoops.

“I…I’m babysitting.” Duh.

But he looked so condemning, as if he thought I’d purposely snuck into his house and had staked out this very bathroom just to catch a peek of him in a towel and try to read his tattoo. It got my dander up.

I scowled back, growing defensive. “What the hell are you doing, taking a shower with the door wide open while I’m babysitting?” I set my hands on my hips and arched my own eyebrows.

Yeah, answer that one, buddy.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he snapped back. “And the latch doesn’t work. I shut it as best as I could, but it still floats open when the exhaust fan is on.”

Oh. Hmm, maybe that’s what Dawn had told me: that the door latch—not the toilet—was broken. My bad.

But that still didn’t excuse his crotchety attitude.

I tried—really—to keep my stare above his neck, but that was like plopping someone onto the ledge of a hundred-story skyscraper and telling them not to look down.

I so looked down. And yep, he was still sexy from head to toe.

He cleared his throat in a disgusted, do-you-mind kind of way.

Busted. I jerked my gaze back up.

“Isn’t my mom home yet?” he asked when he finally had my attention on his face.

When he made it sound as if it were my fault that she wasn’t, I huffed out an impatient breath. “Apparently not.”

But really, what a tragedy. A guy with his level of hotness turning out to be a rude jerk was like stumbling across a steaming hot strip of perfectly fried bacon only to turn it over and realize it had mold growing on it. Not cool.

“I fell asleep on the couch after putting Sarah to bed and no one woke me. Wouldn’t she have woken me if she’d come home?”

“She must be working overtime for someone, then.” He closed his eyes and silently mouthed something, but I’d never been good at reading lips, so I had no clue what he said. Finally, he sighed as if forfeiting a mental battle he was having with himself and ran a hand through his thick, wet, dark hair. “Well, I didn’t know you were here, okay,” he said, not for the first time, but at least he sounded defensive instead of offended this time.

It was minimal progress if you ask me. Now…if I’d had control over his lines, I would’ve had him apologizing profusely for snapping at me by now.

“And I didn’t know you were here either,” I smarted back. “You scared the crap out of me. When I woke up and heard something back here, I thought a burglar had broken in.”

The incredulous look he sent me told me he wasn’t buying it. “You thought someone broke in…to use the shower?”

“I didn’t hear the water running. Jeez.” And now I sounded just as defensive as he did. But really. “I only heard doors, or drawers, or something opening and shutting. I didn’t know what was going on.”

He glanced at the doll in my hand that I still held as a weapon. “Well, swell. I suppose I should feel so much better now, knowing Sarah is safe in your hands. If someone breaks in, you can just wield your doll there and play tea party with them to death.”

Oh, no, he didn’t.

Instead of bringing up Mr. Taser and Mace Man hanging out in my purse, I scowled. “Hey! I’ll have you know the plastic head on this doll is pretty hard. Trust me. Your sister caught me in the noggin with it earlier.” I sank my fingers into my hair and immediately found the tender goose egg she’d left behind. With a wince, I added, “You just wait. After they finish with all the gun bans, they’ll be outlawing these suckers next.”

I waved the doll for emphasis. Its limp body lobbed back and forth in a pathetic attempt at intimidation.

Mason didn’t even crack a smile at my joke. Watching me rub the side of my head, he blinked, looking horrified. “She hit you?”

“Oh, not on purpose, no. It’s nothing,” I dropped my hand from my hair. “No big whoop. We were having a good time. She was excited. Arms started flailing a little too wildly.” I mean, how could they not when I’d been wailing, ‘Give me back my golden arm?’ “But it’s all good. Don’t worry about it.”

He studied me a moment longer. I couldn’t read one discernible thought from his guarded expression. Then he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and turned his attention away from me. “I guess I should pay you. My mom said eight dollars an hour, right?”

He continued to hold the towel in place as he bent to pick up a pair of rumpled, discarded Khakis off the floor. But as he shifted, the terrycloth stretched down in the back, and I swear I saw a peek of crack.

Oh, how I could become addicted to crack, especially when those two taut, tanned globes hugging that blessed crevice molded so perfectly to the back of his towel. They were like twin mounds of ecstasy.

Not noticing me gobbling up his rear end, he dug a hand into the pocket of his pants until he came up with a thick wad of cash. I lurched a step back, gaping at the bills he pulled free. Dear God, I sooo did not want to know where he’d gotten that money.