Page 56 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

“Upstairs,” he said. “Second door on the left.”

I stormed off without looking back, barely registering the expensive art on the walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows, or the kitchen that looked like something from a cooking show.

The bedroom was huge, with a king-size bed, an attached bathroom, and a walk-in closet.

I locked myself in the bathroom.

There were soft towels with expensive skincare and curly hair products, and the brands seemed familiar because these were the products I used. The exact shampoo and conditioner I bought in India.

I’m not sure how he found out and how closely he noticed small things about me.

It was a bit too much. His sports car, his mansion, his… care.

I turned on the shower, stripped, and stood under the hot water until my muscles unclenched and my thoughts stopped spiraling.

When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I found Liam in my bedroom.

He placed clothes on the bed and then stood back. Keeping his hands on his hips, he shook his head and moved the clothes to the other side. He hummed, tilting his head as if he were arranging a museum exhibit.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped, turned around, and froze.

His eyes raked down my body, taking in the towel, my wet hair dripping onto my shoulders, the water still beading on my skin.

His eyes went dark, but he looked away and cleared his throat. “I got you some clothes.”

“Okay.”

Thick tension filled the space between us.

The shower had helped dissipate my anger and annoyance. But now there was this small feeling that had been building since the pool party, since the balcony.

“What?” I said, moving closer. “You want me to give you a show while I change?”

He laughed, and the sound of it was low and rough. “I wouldn’t mind.”

I was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to banter with him and give him what he wanted.

I walked past him and said, “Fine then. Watch.”

I let the towel drop.

The air crackled with tension as I felt his gaze on me like a physical touch, burning across my shoulders, down my spine, and lingering on my ass as I bent to pick up the shorts he had left.

I pulled them on and then the loose t-shirt.

When I looked over my shoulder, his eyes were still pinned to my ass.

“Pervert.”

His voice came out strained. “You let me watch, so⁠—”

“So what? You think that gives you permission to ogle?”

“You invited me to ogle.”

“I did not!”