I can’t tell her that the thought of her sleeping between my sheets, in my bed, breathing in my scent, is a visceral need. At least my scent will wrap around her all night if I can’t hold her.
“It is my home. I make the rules. You’ll sleep in my room. I’ve slept in worse places than my couch; this is nothing. C’mon, let’s get you settled for the night. I know you’ve got to be exhausted. We’ll talk more in the morning.” As ominous as it sounds, I need to make sure she knows that there is still quite a bit to discuss tomorrow. Folding my arms across my chest, I wait to see what she’ll do or say next.
Emotions fly across her face faster than I can track. She’s trying to decide whether it’s worth fighting me on this. My little bit is going to be a handful, and I couldn’t be happier.
“I’m not going to win this one, am I?” she finally asks with a huff.
“Nope. You may win a few in the future, but don’t count on it.” I’m proud of her for picking her battles. Growing up in foster care, I’m sure she had to fight for everything. She must have learned long ago which were the most important to win.
“Fine. I’m too tired to argue. But tomorrow, Andrew, we’ll talk about when I’m going home.”
Grinning at how she says my name, I nod. She can believe whatever she wants if it helps her sleep.
six
Jaclyn
Following Andrew down the hallway, I can’t stop admiring the way his bespoke slacks hug his firm ass—a very fine ass. Cheri would appreciate the view, and I contemplate whether I can get away with snapping a quick pic to send to her later.
Andrew glances over his shoulder and smirks at me. I swear the gorgeous fucker can read my mind. Dangerous. Confident. Dominant. Fuck me. I’ve never been so turned on in my life, not even when I’m reading the best spicy scenes. What is it about him and his stupid call me Daddy?
Yeah, never gonna happen. He’s my boss. Oh. My. God. Just thinking about it sends more heat to my core, like I’m not already turned on enough. I’m surprised I didn’t leave a wet spot on my chair after dinner. My panties have never been this soaked in my life. How the hell am I supposed to sleep in a bed that smells of him?
When we reach the end of the hall, he turns the doorknob and pushes the door open. He steps inside, flicks the light switch, and moves to the side to allow me in.
His scent hits me first. At first, I think it’s just from brushing past him, but as I step further into the room, I know that’s not it. Every breath floods me with his scent—fresh air, sandalwood, and a touch of bourbon. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and the back of my neck tingles as he steps closer to me. The heat radiating off him warms my skin through the thin silk of my blouse.
As I look around his private domain, the mahogany wood furniture, dark and imposing, fills the room. The massive carved wooden headboard rises from the head of the bed. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall. Across from the bed is a matching armoire and triple dresser, with a mirror. The right wall has two doors in it. I’m guessing to a bathroom and a closet.
Everything about this room screams culture, control, and wealth. It shouldn’t be possible with the rough-hewn walls visible around the furniture—like an oxymoron—somehow it works and fits him perfectly.
“I think you’ll be comfortable in here,” he says. “The bathroom is through here,” he continues as he pushes open the first door on the right, and I peek inside. Holy shit. Do his brothers’ cabins look like this, too? They’re billionaires who choose to live on a mountain, but apparently, roughing it isn’t part of the deal. This bathroom rivals anything I’ve seen in Architectural Digest magazine while waiting in the doctor’s office.
“I’m sure I will. Thank you,” I say, because what else am I supposed to do? This cabin is nicer than anywhere I’ve ever seen—even the hotel Cheri and I stayed in when we visited her family in New York. She’d said she needed me to run interference. If I didn’t go, she’d have to stay with them, and she might not have been allowed to return to school.
“You can hang your clothes in the closet.” He pulls open the last door to reveal another enormous space. Andrew’s clothing is on the left side, hanging and arranged neatly on shelves and in the built-ins. The right side is empty, with what looks like a door at the far end. Why would there be a door in the closet? Bizarre.
“If you need anything, let me know. There are towels in the linen closet in the bathroom.”
“Thank you,” I say again. It feels insufficient, but I’m at a loss for words. “The couch—” Before I can try to reason with him one more time, his finger presses against my lips, making them tingle.
“We’ve had this discussion. Sleep well, Sweetpea. See you in the morning.” He looks at me like he’s trying to read my thoughts. I pray he can’t; I’d be in so much trouble if he knew. He cups my cheek, and I hold my breath, thinking he’s going to kiss me. Time seems to stand still. I’m sure he can hear my heart beating loudly.
“So soft,” he murmurs as his hand slides down my cheek. Then he backs away and pulls open the armoire. After grabbing a T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats, he rushes out of the room and pulls the door closed behind him.
“Holy fuck,” I murmur and lean against the bed, sucking in air and trying to slow my racing pulse. Staying in his cabin is a terrible idea. I’m horny and terrified at the same time—how is that even possible?
The gigantic tub beckons to me when I stare through the open ensuite bathroom door. But I don’t want to take the time; besides, what will I do if he walks in and catches me naked in his tub? Yeah, nope, that’s all I need. Things between us are already weird. Me naked? Oh, man. My brain screams, no, but my traitorous pussy says, yes, please.
Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I look around for my suitcase, finding it on the bench at the end of the bed. I don’t remember him having it with him, but probably because I was too busy staring at that sexy ass. Girl, you need to pull yourself together.
Unzipping the pink-trimmed Louis Vuitton case Cheri lent me, I rummage through it looking for my sleep shirt. Instead, I find the rose-colored silk nightgown she bought me for graduation when she dragged me on a shopping spree on Fillmore Street in San Francisco. Talk about sticker shock. The most expensive dress I own cost me one hundred dollars at the outlet stores in San Jose, or so I thought, until she bought me a complete outfit—lingerie, dress, and shoes.
When she saw me sliding my fingers over the softest material I’d ever felt and bought it, too. They’d all still be hanging in my closet, waiting for a chance to return them, if she hadn’t forced me to wear the ensemble for graduation. I’m not going to lie, wearing clothing that cost more than my entire closet combined made me feel like an imposter.
Damn. What am I doing? I need to pull myself together, and fast. My job is on the line. My whole future. I can’t give in to this attraction, because it will end, and then what? Nothing—no job, no prospects, just a broken heart, that’s what.
Andrew can flirt all he wants. He has nothing to lose. Billionaires don’t marry women beneath them, certainly not a former foster kid who works for them. It doesn’t matter that he’s my every fantasy come true, or that his scent stirs something inside me I’ve never felt before. Or that when he touches me, little sparks of joy hop along my nerve endings. Nope. It. Does. Not. Matter.
