He stood at the base of the steps, transfixed by the sight in front of him. The music blasted through surround sound speakers as his client—because, yes, she wasstillhis client—danced in the kitchen. As The Notorious B.I.G. rapped about dreams andWord Up!magazine, Andrew wondered if he would dream about the woman reciting the famous lyrics tonight—and every night.
Andrew wanted to stop her, to get her attention so she knew he was back from his store run, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak up. Because she looked so good. Instead of the messy bun she’d been rocking since he’d been there, her hair was wet and falling down her back like ebony waterfalls. Aside from the black panties, she wore a black tank and pink fuzzy socks. Oblivious to his presence, Paige did a cute little dip and a hip roll as she stirred her coffee.
Fuck. Me.
Blinking, he shook himself out of his naughty musings. He wasn’t a voyeur . . . normally. And he definitely wasn’t a Peeping Tom or a creep. One thing he was, though? Hard as hell.Shit.
Andrew covered his erection with his hat and opened his mouth to speak. “Paige?”
Of course, she didn’t hear him. Instead, she launched into the chorus of the song. Loudly. And a lot off-key.
“Paige?” he called again.
“You know—”She turned and yelped, stumbling back into the sink. “Ouch.” Paige jumped forward, rubbing her back. “Oh my God! When did you get here?”
Andrew looked at the stove, the corny painting of a sailboat, and the white trim on the walls . . . Anything but her and her ass and those damn panties. “Um, I just got here.”
She held her hand over her chest and blew out a deep breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Turning his back on her, he said, “Sorry.”One. Two. Three. Four.
“Drew?” He heard her approach him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he lied. After he’d told her he’d never lie to her again.Good fuckin’ job, Drew.
She walked in front of him and peered up at him, a frown on her face. And he held on to his hat for dear life. “You said you’d never lie to me again.”
Shit. “Paige, it’s not a lie.” Except, it was and he’d just done it again. “I’m good.”That part is true.He was good. Good and hard. “You just shocked me.”
“Why?” she asked incredulously. “What did I do?”
“Your rap skills.” He nodded. “I didn’t know you knew all the words to the song.”Okay, that’s true, too. Paige was more of a neo-soul, R&B woman. Hip-hop wasn’t usually on her playlist. “And I didn’t expect you to be rapping that song in your underwear.”
He glanced down at her then, just in time to see her drop her head and then peer up at him again. “Oh, this. You’ve seen me in my underwear before.”
Of course he had. She was an actress. He’d seen all of her movies and most of her television work. He’d even seen the Broadway play she’d starred in a few years ago. He’d also seen her without her underwear. Not that she did a lot of nude scenes, because she didn’t. But she’d had to disrobe for a sex scene once. Even then he’d always tried to focus on anything else.
“I have,” he agreed, giving her a tight smile. “I just didn’t expect to today.”
“Oh well. I’ll get dressed.” She patted him on his shoulder and sauntered over to the stairs, giving him a full view of her beautiful butt.That ass, though. . . “Oh.” She froze, turning to him. “I thought it would be fun to watch a movie tonight.”
“Okay,” he grunted. “We can do that later.”
“I’ll make popcorn.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Without butter.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Good.”
She tapped her chin. “Horror or rom-com?”
“Horror.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “Fine. But you know I’m a screamer.”
Shit. As if he needed another vision in his head—him on top of her, him inside her—while she was screaming his name.
She stared at him, a coy smile on her lips. Almost like she knew what he was thinking. “Okay, I’m done. I’m going to get dressed.”
“Please do,” he murmured. Paige cracked up. And he wanted to cry.I’m dying. “The milk you wanted is on the counter,” he told her. “I have a few calls to make.”
