Rolled up notes.
So much as syringes.
AsNazminandSalihahad said, I was his live-in nanny. Imumbled under my breath about the child while picking up his toys.
Muttering so enthusiastically, I almost missed the noise from behind the door as I threw rubbish in his bin.
A deep grunt.
And my imagination spiralled.
I knew what that grunt meant.
He was in the shower — the shower he’d invited me to join him in — fisting his cock.
To the thought of me.
I could have heard that noise in my ear, felt his breath on me, laboured and uncontrolled. I could have been the cause of it.
The shower turned off and it took longer than it should for me to realise. I sprung into action, grabbing the bag I’d left on the sofa. The en suite door opened, and I turned with a swallow, standing straight.
Nix had the towel I had thrown at him hanging low around his hips and was rubbing another in his wet hair, a lousy attempt at drying it.
He froze on seeing me, his eyes full of humour as he looked me up and down. A tight breath escaped me.
“You staying for the whole show?” he asked, holding his towel. “You could do more than listen if you like.”
Walking to the door, I said, “I’ll be in my room. It’s just across from yours.”
The humour didn’t leave him. Instead, it was accompanied by a knowing smile.
He stepped closer to me. “If you’re trying to tell me where you’re staying—”
“I—I’m not,” I stuttered.
And pictured my brother sighing.
I crossed my arms. “You can do this all you like,” I said, gaining myself again and gesturing to his stupid physique. “Mindlessly flirt because you think it will make me flustered and lenient on you. You think I will weaken just because some flashy, handsome man is paying me attention. Well, I’ve been with plenty of flashy, handsome men, and it has never stopped me from doing my job. You can give it up.”
He stepped forward again. “Who?”
“If it’s something to pass the time, then that’s cute, I guess,” I continued as his eyes narrowed at the accusation. “But if you want anything more from me… that sucks for you.”
“Sucks for me?” he asked, French accent stronger than usual.
Yes. That was how I knew I had cracked him.
“Knock on my door when you’re ready,” I said, hand already on the doorknob. “That’s the only time you’ll knock on my door. Not for a booty call.”
I walked out.
Chapter 6
Nixon knocked on my door twenty minutes later, fully dressed. Once I was back in the confines of my hotel room, I realised he had probably been smirking at my blushing face.
The pink would not leave my cheeks.
At the reception desk, I waited for the receptionist to order a taxi. Nixon best realise he was paying. I’d organised agoddamncoach.
