And for the life of me, I cannot figure out what he’s doing.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” I snap. “It’s six in the morning.”
“There was a spider.”
I blink slowly, trying to gather my thoughts, because there’s absolutely no way I’ve just been yanked out of my dreams by a six-foot-three Englishman because he’s afraid of a spider.
“I’m sorry,” I say carefully. “What did you just say?”
“Spider,” he repeats gravely. “There’s a spider.”
He points toward the floor. I step closer and squint.
Sure enough, a tiny spider is beneath the chair, minding its own business. Frankly, I wish I were doing the same thing right now. Better yet, I wish I were still asleep. Ishouldstill be asleep,especially as Miles promised we didn’t have to start so early today, after the tournament yesterday.
“A leisurely morning,” is what he said.
I turn back to him.
“You mean this spider? This one right here?”
“Exactly that one,” he says immediately. “It was on my pillow. I woke up, and it was staring at me.”
“Okay . . .” I stare at him. “If I get rid of it, will you go back to sleep? More importantly, will you let me go back to sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” Crouching down, I coax the spider gently onto my hand and cup it carefully.
“Don’t you come anywhere near me with that.”
I bite down on a laugh as I stand, lifting my hand slightly. “You mean this spider?” I ask innocently.
“Ruby, I’m serious.”
He takes a step backward, colliding with the bed before scrambling fully onto the mattress. And suddenly, Miles Burlington is standing in the middle of his bed wearing a pair of very white boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination.
Literally nothing whatsoever.
My eyes pore over him before I can stop myself—broad shoulders, thick muscle, a sculpted torso tapering down to a narrow waist, deep lines carved into either side of his hips, and because he’s a polo player, thighs that could crush walnuts.
His thick curls are mussed from sleep, and he looks so damn good it should be illegal.
Then my eyes drop, and my mouth dries.
He—it—is directly in my eyeline.
His muscles aren’t the only thing that’s thick. I’m staring right at the very generous outline of his dick. . . too much to process for so early in the morning.
How would you even fit that?
The sound of him clearing his throat breaks my focus, and I become painfully aware that Miles is staring at me too. Staring at me, staring at him, but alsostaringat me.
Because I’m not exactly dressed for company either. In my defense, I wasn’t expecting to wake up and rescue someone from an eight-legged creature the size of my fingernail. I didn’t have time to cover up my crop top and panties.
“You’re lucky you’re holding a spider right now, Ruby.”
I’m not about to ask him what he means, Iknow. It’s in the gruffness of his tone, in the heat of his stare. The way his lips are parted.
