Jesse Winters is temptation. He’s way too good at pressing every single one of my buttons. And no matter how often I remind myself that he’s my boss and he’s off limits, the truth is that everything about him—his relentless teasing, his easy smirk, his cocky charm—seems to turn me on.
I watch as he crosses the room to the windows, one hand in his pocket. He leans against the frame, taking in the view of the city. I decide to focus on unpacking, because if I keep looking at him, I’ll lose my mind. The man could pass for an actual model. He’s tall—easily over six feet—and broad-shouldered, with a natural confidence that makes my pulse trip. And then there’s the way he looks today, ditching his usual Cove office attire for a hoodie and a pair of faded jeans. It’s casual, effortless, and unfairly sexy. He knows exactly how good he looks, sleeves pushed up, hood half-down, cologne clinging to the fabric.
I tear my gaze away, walking to my suitcase unzipping my garment bag before my brain can betray me any further. I pull out my dress for the gala and hang it on a padded hanger. My pulse still hasn’t settled, and I doubt it will anytime soon, especially when I see him tug the sweatshirt over his head, leaving him in a white T-shirt that fits his body perfectly. I can’t stop wondering what he looks like under his clothes. Does he have chest hair, or is he all smooth skin and hard lines? Are there tattoos hidden underneath that fabric? My gaze drops to just below his belt buckle before I can stop it, wondering what else he’s hiding. Iseverythingabout him as bold and perfectly built as the rest of him?
My God, Madeline, stop it. I need to get a grip.
Desperate for a distraction, I keep unpacking until I hear the faint pop of the champagne cork.
“Seriously?” I say without turning around.
“What? It’s complimentary.”
I turn around to face him and shake my head as I watch him pour the bubbly into two crystal flutes. He holds out a glass, offering it to me. His eyes are soft and smoldering.
“Truce?”
I hesitate, watching the bubbles rise to the rim. The last thing I need is to have a drink with the man who drives me insane in more ways than one. But it’s been a long day, and my nerves are fried. “Truce,” I say finally, taking the glass.
Our fingers brush—just barely—but it’s enough to make the air between us shift and Jesse smiles like he knows it too. He leans against the dresser, looking infuriatingly at home here. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. I bet he brings his hookups to swanky hotels like this one on the regular. Gross.
I’m trying to wipe that mental image from my mind when he asks, “You always unpack right away?” He’s watching me as I line up my shoes in a neat row beneath the wardrobe.
“It helps me settle in. And my clothes need to be hung so I’m not a wrinkled mess,” I say, tugging up the zipper on my garment bag. “You don’t?”
He grins, setting his glass on the table. “My system’s a little more…” he gestures vaguely. “Free-spirited.”
“I bet it is.”
He laughs, low and easy. “That sounded judgmental.”
“It was,” I say, deadpan.
His grin widens. He picks up the room service menu and opens it. “You hungry?”
“I could eat,” I admit, smoothing the fabric of my jacket before hanging it up. I had coffee for breakfast and not much since then.
He hums, flipping through the pages. “What’s your go-to order, Mads?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Noted, Mads.”
I shoot him a look over my shoulder, but he misses it, still scanning the menu. “How do you feel about burgers and fries?”
“That’s fine,” I say, trying not to be difficult.
“Great. Burgers and fries it is. And champagne.”
“You’re seriously ordering another bottle?”
He glances up, that smirk back in place. “We’re celebrating surviving a travel day. That counts as a special occasion in my books.”
I shake my head, amused despite myself.
By the time the food arrives, the first bottle is nearly gone, and my head feels pleasantly light. Jesse tips the server and wheels the tray inside. The smell of the food — butter and salt — makes my stomach rumble.
He lifts the metal cloches with a dramatic flourish. “Dinner is served. I slaved over a hot stove to make you this meal, Mads. I hope you like it.”
