For a heartbeat, we look at each other, caught in that strange no-man’s-land between sleep and waking.
“Morning,” he says in a roughened voice.
“Good morning.”
“I’ll—” we both say at the same time.
He stops. “You go.”
“No, it’s fine, you?—”
“Erin. Bathroom. Go.”
I exhale a laugh, grateful for the break in tension, and slide out of bed, acutely aware that I’m barefoot, ungroomed, and not at all composed.
I lock myself in the bathroom and lean back against the door.
Since the second I woke up next to him, I’ve felt untethered, like I’m stepping into an elevator shaft and falling, with nothing to hold onto and no idea how far down this goes. Now, at least, with a wall between us, I can breathe.
The mirror greets me with a woman who looks… flushed.
My hair is wild and my eyes are bright in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. The air up here away from the fume-filled streets of Manhattan is fresh and clean, and the promise of a life away from my own—if only just for one week—has injected new life into my veins.
I pull off the t-shirt and slip under the shower.
When I come out, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, August is already dressed—dark slacks, crisp shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. I glance over at the bed. It has been made up with military precision, as if the awkwardness never happened.
He moves about the room efficiently.
“You’re not going to shower?” I ask.
“I’m going to hit the gym after breakfast. I’ll shower after that.”
I swallow, an image of August lifting weights making my pulse kick up in completely inappropriate places.
I suck in a breath and practically adhere myself to the wall as he passes to get into the bathroom.
“Erin…” He pauses in the doorway. “You just survived a whole night in the same bed as me. I think we’ve established I don’t bite.”
I cock a brow. “Well, so far, you’ve been well fed. I’m not letting my guard down until I’ve seen you hungry and lived to tell the tale.”
He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, shakes his head and steps into the bathroom.
I have a feeling I exasperate him.
Well, he offered me this gig. He’s made his bed—he has to lie in it.
I head into the bedroom to get ready.
I pull out a light blue wrap dress that skims my knees. It’s conservative but somehow manages to look sexy. The belt cinches in my waist, the v where the fabric crosses, exposing justa little bit of cleavage. I silently thank Mallorie for encouraging me to buy this bra. It’s like scaffold for wayward breasts.
When I emerge in a fresh pair of heels, August’s gaze falls to my toes then climbs slowly back up my body, pulling a flush of heat with it. Our eyes lock and my breath quickens.
The way he looks at me sometimes makes me weak. I’ve never been looked at that way before, and definitely not in all my years of marriage.
It’s a look that doesn’t have a full point at the end of it, like it’s not finished.
I flick a curl of hair from my brow and walk on past him and out of the suite. The door makes a soft click behind me, then August is at my side and we head back downstairs.
