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God, his chest. His abs. All that water I’d like to lick away. Dark, hard nipples. Places I’d like to taste. So much real estate for my tongue. So much room to make bad decisions. So. So. Tempting.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I just…I really had to pee. I was just too embarrassed to do it with you in there.”
“That’s okay. So, I can go back in? I actually left shampoo in my hair.”
“It’s all yours.”
I leave the door open and intend to walk away. Adam obviously intends to walk toward it and continue the shower that I interrupted with my call of nature. Except he takes a step, then another. I don’t move because the towel…there’s something wrong with the towel. It looks loose, dangerously loose. I part my lips to say something, to tell him I think the knot is working its way undone. I know I should spin around, cover my eyes, make a break for it, and let him get to the bathroom, but the knot. That stupid, evil knot thwarts both of us.
Adam takes another step, and the knot comes undone. That knot is the devil. The very DEVIL. The towel ruffles open, the edges creased from the knot. It holds for a few seconds, trying to defy gravity before it falls away completely.
We both freeze.
Neither of us knows what to do.
Because holy shit, the towel is in a heap on the floor, and Adam is standing naked in front of me. How is this not a recipe for extremely bad decisions? Boundaries? Lines? What the heck was I saying about those? Boundaries can be crossed, and lines can be blurred, I think. Actually, I don’t think. That’s the problem. I can’t think.
Because Adam Fino, my god of a boss who I have never wanted because I thought there was no chance he’d ever want me…
My boss who I never wanted because I thought he was never going to be over his ex-wife…
My boss who I should not want because I did not want to be his rebound…
My boss, who is my boss, who is totally wrong for me...
The opposite of relationship material…Mr. Perfectly Wrong.
My boss who…who… What the heck am I even saying? I don’t remember.
Because Mr. Perfectly Scrumptious with the Greek God Physique is. Totally. And. Utterly. Naked. Right in front of me.
CHAPTER 16
Adam
Holy freaking shit. Talk about a wardrobe malfunction.
There’s another malfunction. Steph’s eyes, of course, go straight down to below my waist. She stares at me, the heat of her gaze both scalding and exciting me. I mean, my dick has an ego all of his own, and the fact that Steph can’t tear her eyes away and makes a little sound, a sort of gasp, definitely strokes it. Strokes it like she would have with her hand, her fingers feathering over the shaft and up to the tip. That thought is all it takes to send the fucker into a straight tailspin. Straight, as in hard, as in, very erect.
Steph gasps again, and she reacts before I do. I’m still frozen. She strides forward and snatches the towel off the floor. She’s close now. Just a few inches away. She doesn’t thrust the towel at me. Instead, she hugs it to her chest. Her face slowly inches up, and she looks at me.
Her lids are heavy, her eyes all pupils. She wants me. She wants this—all of me. No one has ever looked at me this way before. Like she already knows we’ll fit before we’ve even tried it. I told her I never really felt like I belonged anywhere, but the thing is, I feel like I belong with her.
Which is maybe why I don’t reach for the towel. The absurd emotion that tells me to obliterate and erase lines. That tells me this is the right thing to do, even if it’s not, for a thousand reasons that I should be able to recall but suddenly can’t.
Because Steph is tilting her chin, and her lips are parting. Her eyes fixated on my mouth. Sparks sizzle through my bloodstream.
My hands move—both of them. I lift them up. Higher. Not for the towel. They don’t even brush it. Instead, they cup Steph’s jaw. My fingers spread over her cheeks, smoothing out a pattern over her left one. Her skin is softer than flower petals. Softer than water. Finer than air. Touching her is like caressing warm porcelain—real, vibrant, alive.
Her lips part, and she gasps again, just the tiniest sound. Her lips part even further. I have to taste her. I know her. She’s forward, direct, and absolutely no bullshit. If she didn’t want to do this, she’d shove the towel in my chest or kick me in the balls. She’d tell me to get the heck back in the shower, wash the shampoo out of my hair, and the crud out of my mind. She’d tell me it was impossible.
But Steph, who always has something to say, is totally silent.
I’ve been guarding myself for a long time. I thought I was trying to prove something, prove I wasn’t something and was something else, but now I know I was really trying to keep watch over a heart that I could never fully turn to stone. I didn’t want this. I didn’t think I wanted this with another person. I didn’t want to be vulnerable again, but it happened. It’s happening.
Steph’s hands flutter over my shoulders. Her fingers trace the line of muscle there, sweeping over my bicep, exploring me, learning me. She never looks away, and we stare at each other. So close. And I know this isn’t about anything for her other than me. She’s always looked at me like I’m a person, not a way to get something—more and more and more. She’s always looked at me like I actually matter.
She tilts her face just a little and leans in. I can’t stop.
