Page 78 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two

The door swings open, and I suck in a breath. Where I’ve dressed for modesty after my shower with a simple purple flowing skirt that ends around my calves and a plain white T-shirt, Storm is practically naked, dripping wet as if he’s just got out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else besides a gold chain.

“What the fuck?” I nearly shout, spinning away from the view. Not that it’ll help, because the sight is already burned into my memory.

Eight years ago, Storm was built like a god. Now, he’s even thicker, harder, more menacing. Storm Sandoval grew into aman,and holy fuck, every single part of my womanhood comes alive just from a two-second glimpse.

“Put somegoddamnclothes on, Storm! I don’t know what the fuck you think this is, but it’s notthat.” I say all this with my back to him.

Storm makes a deep sound—damn near a growl—and my spine stiffens.

“I’ll get dressed, but you need to come in,” he says, his voice like gravel.

“I’ll wait here,” I throw back.

“No, you won’t,” he says with a frustrated puff of air.

“Why not? I don’t have to listen to your orders. I’m not one of your minions,” I spit.

Storm makes an even louder frustrated sound, then says, “Fine. Don’t move.”

I keep my back turned, picking up the sounds of him moving around the suite with his door open. After a few seconds, he says, “Don’t look, since you’re so sensitive.”

And then there’s the sound of fabric shifting, and— Shit! A slightly damp, white towel lands next to my right foot, part of the fabric flopping over my ballet flats.

Is he… Oh, my God, he’s naked in the open doorway.

“Storm!” I shout, still not turning around, but this time, starting to vibrate…with rage, I think.

“Hold on, hold on… There, I’m decent now,” he says, and I highly doubt that.

Still, I take my time facing him and admit that him dressed isn’t really that much better.

A black sleeveless undershirt paired with gray sweatpants….

This is a bad idea.

“You know what, we can talk in the morning,” I grumble, telling my body to move away, but it doesn’t listen.

“No, we’re talking now,” he commands, and with a swift tug, he pulls me into his suite.

Fuck.

He slams the door shut.

“Sit,” he orders, dragging me to the living room that looks somewhat like mine. The layout is similar, except I have four bedrooms, and it looks like he only has two.

“Again, I’m not your puppy, Storm. You will not order me around.”

Storm stares at me, and I hold his gaze. I won’t back down from him.

“Sit down,” he says slowly, enunciating each word. “Please.”

I fidget, wondering if I should push back again like I want to. After all, I haven’t made it to where I am in life by letting anyone run over me. But this is Storm, and we’ve got a lot of shit to lay out, and me being antagonistic isn’t a good way to establish a co-parenting relationship.

And yes, that’s theonlytype of relationship Storm and I will have. Period.

I lower to the sofa.

Storm takes a seat on the armchair diagonal to my spot, and he slings his leg up to rest his ankle on his opposite knee.