I heard shuffling behind the silver-plated door, achingly slow. Then it opened. A heather-gray T-shirt hung from Drew’s broad shoulders, showing just a hint of smooth skin low on his hips where blue sweatpants sat. I’d always had a fetish for crisp, starchy fabrics, but somehow the loose, baggy fabric emphasized the hard lines of his body. It would have been sexy and adorable if it weren’t for the scratches on the side of his face. Crisscrossed patches along his cheek and temple. Shallow cuts, surface signs of the deeper trauma his body bore within. Three fractured ribs, a concussion. Severe bruising, lacerations. A goddamn miracle he was still alive, much less standing. He frowned. “How did you get up here?” “Bribed the doorman.” “Taking after your brother?” “Well, when you can learn from the best… Are you going to let me in?” “Can I stop you?” That earned him a look. “Probably not. I can’t believe you didn’t call me.” With a bemused expression, he stepped back, opening the door wider.
