I hope Jake has a playroom where he can get messy and explore his creativity.I make a mental note to politely ask the Grants if that’s the case.
“Hello?”I call again.“My name is Genevieve Quinn.I’m Jake’s teacher.Your concierge, Oscar Turner, let me in.Mr.and Mrs.Grant?Is anyone here?”
No one seems to be home.But the place smells really nice—like male cologne.
Chapter Three
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Genevieve
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Istep further intowhat appears to be yet another reception room, this one offering a breathtaking view of the city.
I twirl around, hoping my voice carries in the right direction of this mansion-like penthouse, but I suddenly bump into a solid, warm wall that smells of rich spices and amber.And he’s naked.What the hell?The hardness of his muscular chest sends me reeling back a bit, but it does nothing to disorient me.
“Oh, Mr.Grant?”I ask hesitantly.“You scared me,” I add, setting my purse down on a sofa before extending my hand to him.This is not how I planned on meeting Jake’s father, and I wish he would have put on some clothes first.
“I’m Genevieve Quinn.I’m a school teacher—”
“I’m not Mr.Grant,” he says, planting his hands low on his hips, just where the towel starts.His legs are braced apart, a kind of stoic grin—if that’s possible—on his face as he looks at me.
The man who startled me, wearing nothing but a towel and an eight-pack of abs housed in a muscular yet lean frame, with a string of tattoos on his chest is not Mr.Grant?Then who is he, except for being so tall that I have to raise my head to look up at him?
His hair is dark and short, not a strand out of place.But then his piercing green eyes lock onto mine before his thick, silky brows draw together as he lowers his gaze and scrutinizes the rest of my body.
“I would appreciate it if you put on some clothes, all the same,” I say, raising my chin and looking everywhere but at him.I also pull on the collar of my blouse and straighten my shoulders before taking another five steps back.I don’t like what his closeness is doing to me.
And I really wish he would put on some clothes; even a robe would suffice.
“Well, may I speak to Mr.Grant or Mrs.Grant if she’s here?”
At that moment, another man walks into the living room.Just as tall as the first—six-foot-three, and I’d bet my life on it.And just as freaking naked, with abs and tattoos as well.Well, except for the towel.
This is getting old.But at least he must definitely be Mr.Grant.I step toward him, hand outstretched.The sooner I speak to one of Jake’s parents, the sooner I can leave this place.
