As I lead Javier toward a large set of floor to ceiling double doors, I can feel Rowan’s eyes burning into my ass.
My breath catches in my throat, when I step into the room. “Holy shit,” I whisper, taking a tentative step as the scent of old books, leather, and what smells like cedar takes over my senses.
The library is something straight out of Beauty and the Beast—two stories of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound books in every color imaginable. Warm amber light filters through stained-glass windows, casting rainbow patterns across a worn Persian rug that’s probably worth more than my entire apartment building.
A rolling ladder attached to brass rails allows access to the higher shelves, and a massive mahogany desk that looks like it belongs in some fancy British manor sits proudly in the center of the room. Two overstuffed leather chairs flank a black marble fireplace.
I can almost picture Rowan sitting there on rainy nights, reading scripts with a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingertips.
“Would you prefer I set up here or somewhere more private?” Javier asks, setting his massage table down in the middle of the room.
“Wherever you want,” I reply, head tilted back in awe as I take in the magnificent space.
While Javier sets up his table, I glance behind me to where Ava’s assistants are bustling up and down the stairs, getting everything set up in the guest room.
When my gaze flicks to Rowan, he winks, flashing me a devastating grin.
“I’ll step out while you get ready,” Javier smiles warmly, handing me a plush towel. “Just lie face down on the table and cover your lower half with this. I’ll knock before coming back in.”
Once I’m settled on the table, warm scented oil and Javier’s skilled hands work magic on my tense muscles.
“You’re carrying a lot of tension in your shoulders,” he notes as he works out a particularly stubborn knot.
“Yeah, well, it’s been a stressful few weeks,” I murmur, voice muffled against the face cradle.
“Hollywood will do that to you,” he chuckles.
“I’m not from here,” I explain. “Just visiting.”
“Ah. First time in L.A.?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
The forty-five minute massage has me floating as I slip on a fluffy robe and head back into the kitchen.
Rowan’s eyes find mine immediately, his gaze softening when he sees what I’m sure is a dazed look on my face. “Better?” he grins.
“So much,” I admit, grabbing a slice of pizza. “That man has magic fucking hands.”
The way I say it, all breathy, has me mentally grinning in delight as Rowan’s eyes narrow and his jaw flexes.
“Hell yeah, he does,” Leeza agrees, oblivious to the challenge in my eyes. “He’s been our go-to massage therapist for years. Works with all the big names.”
A large bite of pizza hides my smirk when I see Rowan’s eye twitch. Something about making him jealous feels deliciously satisfying after years of him being the never present bane of my existence. Even if he himself said I’m nowhere near Javier’s type.
After we finish eating, Ava takes over. “All right, darlings. Time to get started. We’ve got work to do.”
I glance at Rowan, who gives me an encouraging nod. “Go on. I’ve got other shit to do. You’re in good hands.”
“Fine,” I sigh, following Ava and Leeza up the stairs.
When I walk into the room, I gasp. The entire space has been converted into a makeshift styling studio. Racks of clothingline one wall, and a professional makeup station has been set up near the window.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, taking it all in. “This is... a lot.”
“Only the best for the Sexiest Man Alive,” Leeza sing-songs.
I roll my eyes with a snort.
