Page 40 of The Star in Room 7

“How can you afford somewhere this big?” I ask.

“I own my own business, arranging private security for some of the richest stars in Hollywood.”

I gape at him. I knew I was a million pay checks short of affording private security, but I hadn’t realized how lucrative providing that security could be. I can’t even begin to comprehend how expensive this apartment must have been. Does he rent? Does he own it?

Gently, he pushes my mouth shut with his finger. “You’ll catch flies,” he teases.

I want him to kiss me.

“Come on, let’s finish the tour.”

He shows me the room he’s using as a home gym next. It must be a bedroom, as it has a walk-in wardrobe.

As I didn’t receive a large fee for Confessions, I can only dream of owning my own apartment, let alone one as big and swanky as this.

Nate has laid thick rubber matting over the real wood flooring, presumably to prevent it getting damaged if he ever drops any of the weights.

Next, he shows me the main bathroom, with its double-width sink. Seriously, who needs a sink that wide?

“Why is your bath so deep?” I ask.

“It’s a soaking tub.”

“A what-now?”

“A soaking tub. The idea is that you can be submerged up to your shoulders even when you’re sitting up. It’s meant to be more relaxing. I’ll admit, I prefer to shower. It’s faster.”

I prefer showering, too, but I’d make an exception for that bath. The bath in my apartment is too narrow and shallow to be enjoyable. The downside of Nate’s soaking tub seems to be that it’s short. There’s no way you could stretch out in it, only sit.

Finally, he shows me his bedroom, which is so long that it could fit a second king-sized bed. The walk-in wardrobe is big enough for me to move into, and the en suite—which has a shower not a bath—has an identical double-width sink to the main bathroom. Again, the walls are plain white, allowing the artwork to speak for itself. The bedroom window overlooks LA, rather than the golf course, but that’s amazing in and of itself. I can see for miles, but we’re so high up that there’s no risk of anyone being able to look in and see us, emboldening me.

I clasp my hands at his nape. “You have a beautiful apartment, Daddy.” It’s funny how easy it is to call him that. It’s like I know that, deep down, this dynamic is right for me. I need someone to take care of me and let me be vulnerable. Especially now.

Nate puts his hands on my hips. “I’m glad you like it, sweet boy.” He kisses me tenderly, his beard and mustache soft enough to tickle, not scrape.

“Are you ready to work out?” he asks. “Or would you like a breakfast smoothie first?”

“Let’s work out.”

I can’t help but stare at Nate as we warm up together. I follow his lead, even though I have a warm-up routine of my own. His movements are fluid as he stretches, and I swear he’s chosen to wear shorts tight enough to make me drool on purpose. My pulse quickens at the way his quads shift beneath them as he does squats. When he starts lifting weights, I’m rendered breathless by the powerful flex of his biceps and the way the veins running along them pop. Is it any wonder I feel safe in this man’s arms? He’s the only man who’s ever made me relax so utterly and completely. The only man I’ve trusted this fully.

Is it possible that I only feel this way because he’s taking care of me in the wake of my apartment getting broken into? Or because I was emotional after he blindfolded me? Yes, I guess so. But my emotions seem real enough, and they haven’t waned in the hours since then.

He meets my gaze and chuckles. “Aren’t you going to lift weights, too?”

“I’m just admiring the view,” I admit.

“I thought you wanted to work out?”

“I did. I do. You’re distracting me, Daddy.”

He arches a brow, eyes twinkling. “Should I stop?”

“No.” My voice comes out as a squeak. “No. Don’t stop.” I straddle the weight bench, which is fully flattened, leaning forward slightly as I rest my hands on top of each other on the seat.

He smiles and does a few more reps before carefully putting the weights down. “I could spot you on the bench, if you like?”

“Or you could show me how good you are on the pull-up bar.”