Page 33 of House of Cards

I do as he commands with a shaking hand. He backs up out of the shower, reaching blindly for one of the fluffy white towels on the rack. He drapes it over his shoulders, patting his hair dry before swiping it over his face. Then he wraps it around his waist and beckons me to come out.

Keeping my arms wrapped around my tits, I step out carefully. Smith snatches the second towel from the rack andcrooks a finger at me. I reluctantly move closer to him, flinching when he wraps me in the fluffy white fabric.

He studies me for a long moment as we stand there dripping onto the glossy black tiles, making a low rumble deep in his chest.

“As much as I’m enjoying this little game,” he murmurs as he pats the corner of my towel over my face, “I’m too tired for this shit right now.”

“Cry me a river, Grandpa,” I say sourly. He’s way older than me—at least seven, eight years older—but he’s far from old. Which is probably why my insult just slides off him like hollandaise sauce off someone’s cheek.

Despite his advanced age, he doesn’t seem to have much of an issue seeing without his glasses. I was hoping he’d be completely blind without them, because that’s something I could have used to my advantage.

“This? This is unacceptable.” He points to the four small holes in his chest.

I sniff, carefully tugging the towel out of his hand and using it to dab water from my neck. “So is imprisoning someone.”

In a heartbeat, I’m up against the bathroom wall, his arms flush with the tiles on either side of my head, body caging me in.

“Stab me again, and imprisonment’s going to the be the least of your problems.”

The sensation of his wet skin against mine is electrifying. Or is it just the way his eyes darken into black pools, eager to swallow my gaze whole?

His stoic mask fades, and dear God, I wish it hadn’t. Under that stony face is something primal, almost savage. A shiver of fear courses through me before coiling in my belly, where it causes sinister things to happen in my nether regions.

A growing ache. A slow, pulsing heat I’ve never felt before.

With Smith’s wet, hard body pinning me to the wall, I’m trapped. Heat pools low, my muscles clenching tight, and even as I try to will my sudden need away, my body does the unforgivable and tilts toward him.

What the hell am I thinking?

I need to end this before I do something insane…like let him finger me again.

“Parlay?” I ask through a swallow.

He frowns. “I’m not sure you know what that means.”

“And I’m not sure you’re familiar with pirate etiquette.”

“Pardon?” That frown of his only deepens.

“Jesus, watch a movie sometime,” I sigh. “Truce?”

He steps back, and I’d be rejoicing if my insides weren’t still so insanely hot and bothered.

When he moves aside, I take it as an invitation to leave the bathroom. My eyes skip to the food cart, and I feel a tiny stab of guilt at the mess I’ve made. Looks like it would have been an excellent breakfast. They even got the bacon right. Crispy, but not?—

“You spilled the milk,” he says, coming to stop beside me as I stare down at the wrecked plates and lifting the now empty jug of milk. It looks even smaller in his big hand as he upends it, so the last drop splashes down onto an egg-smeared croissant.

“I ain’t gonna cry about it,” I murmur, but it’s halfhearted.

The kitchen was kind enough to send up a newspaper with our breakfast. Or maybe Smith always gets one with his morning cup of coffee.

I have to force myself not to pick it up and stare at it, because something tells me wherever myoh shitmeter was last night, it’s just sky rocketed. Or plummeted. Whichever direction is worse.

FAMILY DINER BURNS AS?—

“—lactose intolerant, or do you just prefer plant milk?”

I tilt my head to stare up at my captor, brain scrambling furiously as I watch him cleaning his glasses with the edge of his towel. “Uh…it’s just...nuttier.”