Page 10 of Worth Loving You

A door closed in the direction of the double glass ones, a shadow moved across the wall, and Milo strolled out wearing a pair of navy, silk pajamas, the top completely unbuttoned to expose his torso. Both hands raked through his shaggy blond hair, the material of the flimsy shirt billowing in the air with his wide steps, flowing around his sides.

My heart stopped and my mouth opened, mesmerized by the sight. His bare feet slapped to the floor as he closed the distance. For only a split second, my attention lingered at his crotch, faintly seeing the bulge sway to his steps. My sight returning to his face, my pulse finally thumped back to life at the small, confident smirk, his gray eyes glowing with mischief.

“Good morning, Ms. Monroe.”

He was approaching in a manner that had intent. My muscles locked and I waited with bated breath, wondering what he was going to do when he reached me. To my surprise, less than a foot in front of me, he sidestepped and went to the kitchen.

The fluttering in my belly crashed, my breath exhaling. My brows knitting, my waist twisted to watch him go to the counter beside the oversized, fancy, gas stove that looked like it came from a professional setting. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped it black.

“You want a cup?”

I shook my head.

He turned around and leaned on the counter, his hand holding the edge. His sight raked over me more than once while he openly observed and sipped his coffee in silence.

I shifted my weight, more than uncomfortable. Finally, unable to handle it any longer, I huffed and set a hand on my hip. “What?”

His brows arched, the cup hovering in front of his mouth. “What?”

“I asked you first.”

“I have no idea what you’re asking, though.”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Hm? Oh.” He took another sip, raking his sight yet again. “You always wear that?”

I held my arms out and gazed at the white outfit that was similar to scrubs. “Yeah, it’s standard with my company. See?” I asked, pointing to the embroidered half sun on the left top with the name beneath it.

“And Saturdays, when you freelance, what do you wear?”

Bristling, my lids widened. How did he know I freelanced on the weekends? I didn’t tell him that.

“Why would you say that?”

“What?” He licked his lips, twisted his waist, and added more coffee.

“How did you know I freelance?”

Not bothering to look at me, he put the pot back on its base and said, “A strange woman was coming into my home. You think I didn’t have you checked out first? I know about you, Chastity Lou Monroe.”

Warning bells went off in my ears, my nerves shaking. “Uh, I…I don’t think I should be—”

The metal door swung open, and the huge man shuffled in with my massage table. Milo jutted his chin and told him to set it up in his room.

“Follow Mr. Shaw. I’m going to get something to eat while you do your thing.”

Huffing, I picked up my bag and inched across the area. The frosted glass opened to a short hallway that had a tiny closet, a niche to another opening, and a laundry closet. Even though it was closed, I could hear the washer spinning, the fabric softener releasing its fresh scent to the air.

Wyatt opened another door and went inside the bedroom with my table.

It was a large room with a king-sized bed on the main wall. It had a tall, padded headboard that jutted out on the sides, curling back toward the mattress a few inches. Double French doors opened to a private balcony that overlooked other skyscrapers with a beautiful view of Lake Michigan in the distance.

He dropped my table near the wall, beneath the television mounted near the ceiling.

“Unless you have two grand to replace that when you break it, I suggest you be a little more careful.”

He shot a heated sneer and chuckled. “Lady, I have two grand in my couch cushions, I’m sure. Don’t insult me with your chump change items.”