"I'll let you—" I wave at the towel again. At him. At this entire situation I need to escape immediately. "Get dressed. Obviously. Because you're not. Dressed. Currently."
Someone please kill me.
I spin toward the door.
"Kristen."
I stop. Don't turn around. Can't turn around. If I see him in that towel one more time, I'm going to do something stupid.
"Next time, knock louder."
There's something in his voice. Something that might be amusement. Or warning. Or both.
"Yes, of course."
I don't wait for his response.
I'm down the hall and around the corner before I let myself breathe. My back hits the wall. My hand presses against my chest where my heart is trying to escape through my ribs.
What the hell was that?
I cannot afford to notice my boss's body.
You're a mess, I tell myself. A walking disaster with no business looking at men like Nico Sartori.
But I looked.
And worse?
I'm pretty sure he noticed.
Nico
Fuck.
The word loops in my head like a broken record as Kristen's footsteps fade down the hallway. I stand there, towel gripping my hips, water still dripping down my chest, staring at the empty doorway like an idiot.
She looked at me.
Not the polite glance of an employee caught in an awkward situation. No. Her gaze traced down my chest, caught on my abs.
And her lips parted.
Just slightly. Just enough for me to notice. Just enough for my cock to decide this was an invitation.
I grip the towel tighter, willing my body to calm down. The last thing I need is to walk around the compound with a hard-on because the housekeeper saw me half-naked. I'm thirty years old. I have better control than this.
Apparently, I don't.
The thing is, I know what women look like when they want something. I've seen it in club VIP rooms, in boardroom meetings where deals involve more than contracts, in the dozensof short-term arrangements I've had over the years. That look has a particular quality.
Kristen's look wasn't that.
Hers was surprised. Like she didn't expect she would like it. Like desire was a language she hadn't spoken in so long, she'd lost the words.
And that is what's making my blood run hot.
I usually hear the knock. The staff knows my pattern, knows I value privacy, knows to wait for acknowledgment before entering. I should have heard her.
