His eyes track down to the bundle in my arms. Back up to my face. Something unreadable flickers in his expression.
"Right," he says finally. "Pajamas."
"Yep. Very important. For sleeping."
"For sleeping," he echoes.
Another beat of excruciating silence.
Then I bolt back to the bathroom and slam the door.
I lean against the closed door, heart hammering.
That was—
Nope. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about the way the towel hung on his hips. Not thinking about the water on his skin. Definitely not thinking about the fact that I know exactly what's under that towel now. Well, sort of. Through clothes. But still.
I shower quickly, then shove my damp clothes and the robe into the washer-dryer combo so they can’t sit there judging my life choices.
Then I count to sixty. Then another sixty just to be safe.
When I finally emerge, he's standing by the window in clean pants and a t-shirt, staring at the ocean like it personally offended him.
His shoulders are tense. His hands are shoved in his pockets.
The professional mask is back. Locked down tight.
"So," I start, because someone has to say something. "That was—"
"Don't."
"We should probably—"
"Tomorrow." He still doesn't turn around. "We'll talk tomorrow."
"West—"
"Go to bed, Jane."
The dismissal is clear. Gentle, but firm.
Right. Because what else isthere to say?
Sorry I made you come in your pants during a lesson?
Thanks for the orgasm, great coaching, five stars, would recommend?
I retreat to the bedroom and close the door.
The bed is enormous. California king. Approximately twelve thousand thread count. More pillows than a Williams Sonoma catalog.
I climb onto my designated side and stare at the ceiling.
My body is still humming. Still warm and loose and satisfied in a way that makes me want to stretch like a cat. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive against the clean cotton of my pajamas.
And I'm about to share a bed with the man who just made me see stars.
Professional distance, I remind myself.This is a fifty thousand dollars-worthy business arrangement. What just happened was a... miscalculation. A training montage that went off the rails. We're both adults. We can handle this.
