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I trail Xander to the lounge. He rounds the bar and pulls out a duffel bag. Unzipping it, he throws me a glance from across the bar. He pulls out a fresh set of clothes and slides them over to me.

I eye them before giving him a questioning look.

“They’re for you. Go and get changed.”

“It’s almost as if you’ve had this entire thing planned out,” I comment, resting my chin on my fist on top of the bar.

“Would it be so bad if I did?”

“A little creepy.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at my remark.

“So, we’re meant to just stay up all night?” I ask as he rummages through his bag.

He shakes his head. “There’s a bedroom by the office. We can stay in there.”

“Okay,” I say slowly.

His wrist twists, veins bulging as he works to unbutton his shirt. He peels the wet material off, revealing muscle after delicious, tattooed muscle, glistening in the dim lighting of the lounge, flexing with each movement. I’m completely mesmerised watching as he dumps the shirt to the side. My eyes wander further down the V of his abs, and I catch a glimpse of his very generous bulge.

“You’re drooling.” His voice snaps me out of the show he just put on.

I clear my throat and glance away, cheeks burning, immediately feeling my own wet clothes sticking to my body, causing me to shiver.

He chuckles before he says, “Take them to the dressing room, ask me to turn around—whatever. Just get out of those wet clothes.”

Without looking, I grab the clothes from the bar and make my way to the dressing room.

I shut the door behind me and instantly strip off, shivering at the cool breeze from the air conditioning hitting my skin.

I find a clean towel and dry off. I haven’t got another spare change of clothes—I wasn’t planning on staying overnight at my bloody place of work—so my underwear is also soaked.

I grimace and pull them down my legs, grabbing the black pair of joggers Xander gave me and shoving my legs inside them. Aside from the fact that they’re wet from the rain, they also glitter with the remnants of my arousal—mocking me.

Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of what just happened and how good it felt. Followed by self-disgust.

Xander’s joggers are huge on me, so I take the drawstrings and tighten them around my waist. I pull on the black t-shirt and examine myself in the mirror. I’m literally drowning in his clothes.

I catch a whiff of musk as I turn to walk out of the dressing room and bring the collar of his shirt to my nose. I inhale his scent. It smells like… safety.

I shake off that thought and head back to the lounge.

There are two ‘Sex On The Beach’ cocktails on the counter. Xander is turned towards the back wall with glass shelves of liquor neatly organised across the large bar, wearing just a pair of grey joggers, his black ink-covered skin on full display and muscles bunching with the movement of cutting up various cheeses and meats.

He looks so casual. After what just happened between us. In the middle of Diamond Lounge.

He looks like he’s inside his own kitchen.

And my brain can’t wrap itself around the view. How… normal he looks.

“Are you making a charcuterie board?” I question, still stumped by the view in front of me.

He spins around, leaning back on the counter with the knife still in his hand, pinning me with his gaze.

He drags his eyes down my frame in his too-big clothes. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth, and a smile manifests on his face. The knife in his hand contrasts the domesticated look. I can’t see that dangerous look when he’s standing half-naked in front of me, beside my favourite cocktail and a charcuterie board.

“Enjoying the view?” he taunts.