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Do not think about her naked.

“I need a shower to get mom’s stench off me.”

“Not helping,” I grit out.

“Huh?” She shrugs out of my hold leaving the sense of an empty void in her place. Thank fuck she did though, I wasn't going to let her go on my own. Her hazel eyes scan the entirety of the room. Hooking her thumb in the direction of the bathroom she says, “I'll just go—”

“No.” There's no way I can focus on her safety with her on the other side of the door, gloriously naked and waiting for me. Maybe not that last part, but that’s where my dirty imagination will take me. I give my head a shake to pull it from the gutter. “Sit.” I point to the small sitting area on the other side of the room. “Wait until Tank comes back with the food. Until then, I promised you something to take the edge off.”

Arms crossed across her chest, she shuffles to the low buttercream-colored armchair and ungracefully plops into it. I hold back a laugh. This woman is proving the exact opposite of who I assumed she was. It puts me on uneven footing. All the women I’ve known are perfection personified. Graceful, manipulative, delicate, and vindictive —thatI know how to defend against. But this? Her?

I pull one cabinet door open and then another before finding what I'm looking for. When I open the fridge, the cold air slides across my face feeling amazing against my heated skin. Earlier the boys turned down the air conditioning for Randi, we’ve all already picked up on her being cold natured, which means we're all roasting.

“White or red wine?” I call out over my shoulder loud enough for her to hear across the room.

“Tequila?”

“Damn,” I mumble, a small smile pulling up the corners of my lips. Grabbing a small bottle of tequila, I slam the fridge door shut with a soft kick, then the cabinet. “You're a surprise at every turn, aren't you?”

“I'm taking that as a compliment.” Our fingers graze as I hand off the tequila, shooting a bolt of want straight to my cock.

Fuuuuck.

A pop then crackle of the seal breaking sounds at my back as I move toward the bathroom. “You should. It's different for sure.”

“Different how?” Her voice barely carrying over the running water wetting the cloth in my hand. After ringing it out, I step back into the bedroom and lean a shoulder against the doorframe.

“Here.” I toss the wet rag across the room only for her to duck, a loud smack and squeak filling the room as it slides down the glass window behind her. “You were supposed to catch that.”

“Right.” Bending over the arm of the chair, she stretches to the floor, offering a great view of her round ass. I advert my gaze, pretending I wasn’t staring when she pops back up, face flushed with the washcloth in hand. “What's this for?”

I maneuver a finger in the air circling in the direction of her face with a cringe. “You've got….”

A bright pink blush tints her cheeks as she dips her face to the washcloth and gives it a good scrub. “You didn't answer my question. Different how?”

Shifting my attention to the floor as she cleans up, I say, “I was wrong about who you are. I assumed you were like every other beautiful woman in DC.”

“Beautiful,” she says, her tone disbelieving. “And what's that?”

“You'll find out soon enough. Being different is a good thing, Randi. Don't lose it.”

At her silence, I look up to find her now clean face tipped up with the small bottle pressed to her lips. A loud laugh slips past before I can stop it. Still chugging the golden liquid, her eyes cut over. The plump lips wrapped around the glass twitch upward.

“You know what? I don't think we have anything to worry about.” I'm still laughing as I squat in front of the cabinet once again and retrieve another round, this time snagging a bottle of vodka for myself. Beta team took over an hour ago, so technically I'm off the clock.

“Catch it this time,” I say holding up the bottle with a wink.

Her eyes narrow in concentration as she wiggles in the seat and extends both hands. “Ready.”

“Wow.” Never in my life have I been this entertained by a woman—with her clothes, on that is. “Here it comes. Nice and slow.”

“That's not what she said.” She chuckles to herself. “Not me, but any other she.” Her eyes flick up to mine, and I smile while shaking my head in disbelief.

“You're kind of funny,” I say, still smiling, the tequila still gripped between two fingers not wanting to make the move to hand it over. There's something special, bonding even, in this moment I don't want to interrupt.

“Really?” Hope and disbelief fill her voice. “Most people just think I'm crazy.”

“Well, you're that too, but funny mostly. It's a clever funny, so I guess you have to be as smart as you to get your humor.”