Page 9 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

And stop.

Her gaze moves over me slowly. My shoulders. My chest. My stomach. Down to where my belt is still buckled around my hips.

Then back up.

Much more slowly than it went down.

Well. That’s interesting. Because for one very distinct second, she isn’t horrified. She’s looking at me exactly the way I’ve been looking at her.

Then reality catches up with both of us.

Her gaze drops again.

This time to herself.

Then back at me.

Her eyes widen even further.

And the color drains from her face.

Oh, shit.

Her hands fly over her breasts.

I jerk my eyes up to the ceiling about three fucking seconds later than I should.

Because apparently this day wasn’t done fucking with me yet.

“What the FUCK?”

Yeah.

That seems about right.

Chapter 4

Scarlett

“What the FUCK?”

The words come out loud enough to bounce off every marble surface in the bathroom.

The stranger’s eyes shoot straight to the ceiling. A little late for that considering he’s already seen literally every inch of me, but I suppose I should appreciate the effort.

“Turn around!” I demand, folding one arm over my breasts while the other hand makes a desperate attempt to cover everything below my waist.

He turns immediately, and for one second I’m relieved. Then I realize his back is almost as distracting as his front.

Broad shoulders. Muscled arms. A narrow waist above a pair of expensive black pants. And when he turns his head slightly, I catch the silver at his temples.

Of course. Because apparently being caught naked by a complete stranger wasn’t humiliating enough.

The complete stranger also has to be hot.

Older too. Not old. Not even close. Just older in that unfair way where a man looks like he’s spent enough years on earth to know exactly what he’s doing. In a boardroom. In a bedroom.

Probably in a five-headed shower.