“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.
“No,” Kian said.
“Yes,” I said at the exact same time.
The man’s mouth twitched.
Kian sighed. “What do you need, Amir?”
“An email came in, so whenever you’re ready…” Then, because his bodyguard was a smartass, he added, “Or not ready. Whatever.”
Kian nodded once. “Wait for me in my office.”
Amir turned his attention to me. “Welcome to the villa,” he said simply, watching me like I might lunge and take out his boss.
The thought had crossed my mind, just not in the way he was imagining. My ideas were far less violent and significantly more distracting.
“Thanks,” I muttered, my cheeks burning.
I exhaled slowly, mentally slapping myself.
Get. A. Grip. Woman.
Kian placed a hand on the middle of my back, resuming my tour. “Last stop.”
We made our way up to the second floor and stopped at a set of doors. He opened them and stepped aside.
“Your luggage is here already.” He pointed to the suitcases sittingin the middle of the room. “So is breakfast, or lunch, whatever you want to call it.”
The stainless-steel tray, capped with a matching cover, rested on a marble table.
“Wow, you really think of everything, don’t you?” I muttered, breathing in the scent of coffee and eggs drifting over. “Are you like that in… hmmm… every aspect of your life?”
I took in the stunning room. Pale stone floors, a massive bed dressed in crisp white linens…
“Sophie,” he said lightly, “are you wondering whether I think of everything when it comes to sex too?”
Heat rushed to my face. “Well, now I am. Thank you so much for that image.”
He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.”
Of course, he still hadn’t actually answered the question. Typical. I narrowed my eyes at him, equal parts annoyed and intrigued.
I blamed it on having too much time on my hands, though deep down I suspected it might be more than just that.
“So this room is all mine?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I walked in slowly, turning in a slow circle as I soaked it all in. After three months of cramped European hotel rooms, this was such a treat.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, glancing up at the ceiling where a large white ceiling fan circulated the air. “If you’d told me up front that my bedroom would be equivalent to ten hotel rooms, I would have come last night.”
He grinned and notched his head to the side. “The bathroom’s through there,” he said, and I followed his line of vision. “Sitting area on the other side. Balcony stays locked at night.”
I looked at him. “You sound very serious about that.”
“I am.”
