I started edging slowly toward the door, turning up my customer-service persona to a thousand. Chris was the bride’s elderly doddering aunt who wanted to know why she was seated next to the cousin that had stolen their grandmother’s prized ashtray. And I had to talk her down from going after the woman with a fish knife.
“It’s not about the money,” I said soothingly. “We don’t even know each other. Though I’d totally like to!”
Not.
“You seem like a great guy who likes the simple life. I appreciate that.”
Chris visibly relaxed as I took another shuffle toward the door.
“Good,” he said and nodded to himself. “You’ll do great.”
I took another shuffle.
Chris removed his sweater.
I paused mid shuffle to drool at the washboard abs, the bulging biceps, and the pecs that I wanted to run my hands over.
“I have condoms in my purse,” I blurted out as he undid his pants.
He gave me that sexy grin.
“I have something better than a hookup.” He threw the pants on the floor.
He might not have been thinking about sex, but I sure was. This was the closest I’d been to a naked man since a July wedding where the bride had insisted on a life-sized ice sculpture of a nearly nude Chris Hemsworth as her centerpiece.
I made a strangled noise. “Better than sex?”
Chris took two steps across the tiny room to wrap an arm around my waist and guide me to the window.
“See that building?” he asked, breath hot in my ear.
“Uh—”
Crap, I wanted him.
“The pizza place?”
“No, the tower, the big one—all glass and lights with the sweet penthouse on top,” he said, deep voice reverberating through my chest.
I nodded.
“I own that.”
I felt his lips brush my ear as he smiled.
“Okay?”
Chris laughed and stepped away from me.
“You don’t believe me,” he stated.
“Dude, I just wanted to hook up with you. I have like a thousand pictures to edit. Are you game or not?”
“You get right to the point. I like that.” He walked over to the rickety wardrobe in the corner of the room and opened it. I expected it to be bursting with stuff, but it only held a very nice suit, imported Italian leather shoes, and a crisp white shirt laid out neatly.
Chris pulled on an undershirt then the starched dress shirt.
“I own it for real. I also own this building, of course,” he said as he pulled the pants on, “but it’s not nearly as impressive.”
