Page 64 of Miss Understanding

I followed him down the 110 freeway south and onto the exit leading toward the beaches. I’d known he lived in Manhattan Beach, one of the wealthier neighborhoods, but nothing could’ve prepared me for his beautiful house. As I crossed this last personal line, reality started to set in.

He opened his garage, but I noticed he didn’t pull in. He opened his driver’s side door and got out to come around to my now open window. “Go ahead and park in the garage. I’ll go in and meet you in there in a minute.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t sure if he was hiding my car, or if he was simply being a gentleman with the offer to have it parked inside, but at this point, I wasn’t sure I cared. I was beat.

Once I pulled into the garage, I got out of my car and shut the door. I walked around toward the door, using my cell phone to light the way.

Before I reached it, he opened it from the inside. “Come on in.”

Shit. He looked awkward as hell to have me here. And my butterflies were about to have a mutiny. Especially since the first thing I usually did after a shift was to shower. I was still all sweaty from working all night. Not exactly sexy.

“Do you want a tour?”

“Sure.” Not only was I curious about his house, but I also hoped this would ease my sudden nerves. But it didn’t. Because after touring the gorgeous home with gleaming hardwood floors, a modern kitchen, and three spacious bedrooms—one of which was obviously the master—I’d never been so wired. The house clearly showed how we came from two different worlds. I was way out of my league with a man of his wealth. It now made sense to me when he’d said he had a lot to lose by trusting the wrong person.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, as we ended up back in the kitchen. He poured a glass of water and handed it to me.

“You have a beautiful home. What did you do the whole time you waited? Did you stay upstairs?” Color me curious as to if he was partaking in the club activities offered.

“No. I did some work from the car.”

My relief was immediate.

He fidgeted with straightening his dishcloths before turning toward me. “Sorry this is awkward.”

It really was. “Are you having second thoughts?”

He expelled a breath. “Yes and no, but I promise it’s nothing personal toward you. I want you here. I just—”

“—have a hard time trusting?” I finished for him.

“Yeah. How about we eat, then talk? I’m not much in the kitchen, but I can make some sandwiches.”

I was starving. “Sounds good. Uh, is it too weird if I ask if I can use your shower? I sort of smell like booze and sweat.”

His brow arched at my request, but he seemed to take it in stride. “Yeah, sure. You can use the shower in the master bathroom. There are clean towels hanging.”

“Thank you.”

I went up the stairs and quickly started the water in the largest shower I’d ever seen. Stone tiles made it elegant. As I stripped off my clothes, part of me fantasized about him joining me. That would be a hell of a way to start things.

I left my hair up so as not to get it wet and washed my body quickly with his mint body wash. I was thankful I’d shaved this morning, but once I was out of the shower, I realized I didn’t want to go and put on my dirty clothes. Opting instead for a towel, I wondered what he would think about me coming downstairs in nothing but.

Talk about sending a message. But I definitely didn’t have the nerve to pull that off. I’d been with exactly two boys. Emphasis on boys. Not a man. Most certainly not a man with as much experience as Liam probably had.

After my shower, which had been divine, I opened the bathroom door to see the object of my thoughts standing in his bedroom with a clean T-shirt and soft sweat shorts folded in his hands. His expression was priceless as he gazed down at me wearing nothing but the soft terry towel.

Chapter Thirty-One

Liam

My eyes were glued to the beauty in front of me. “I thought you might want clean clothes.” My voice was thick. My erection was going to be difficult to hide if I stayed in this room. “Why don’t you get dressed? Then we’ll eat and talk downstairs in the kitchen.”

A few minutes later, she walked down my stairs in my white cotton T-shirt and way-too big-for-her athletic shorts. My eyes tracked her all the way. She must have been dead on her feet. Yet she was still here. “More water okay? Or I have wine.”

She grinned. “I think wine would make me fall asleep. Another glass of water is good.”

While I filled two glasses, she hopped up on the granite countertop, grabbing the sandwich and taking a bite. It was simple turkey and cheese, but she made a sigh as if it hit the spot.