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JULIET
“What are you doing here?”
I gape at Caleb in disbelief. Not just because the sight of his designer suit in my dingy hallway is seriously out of place, but because just three minutes ago, I was caught up in serious sexual fantasies featuring that very mouth.
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” Caleb’s cool blue stare skirts over me, and his lips curve in a dangerous smile.
That’s when I realize I’m dripping wet, naked underneath the flimsy short robe.
My face flames hotter. “No.”
He looks amused. “No?”
I pull my robe closed tighter around me. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I won’t be long.”
A neighbor opens her door and scowls at me. “What’s going on?”
I sigh. “It’s OK, Mrs. Kaminsky.”
“Is this another one of your fellas?” she demands. “Because I’ve told you about the comings and goings—”
I yank Caleb inside and slam the door, before he can jump to conclusions.
Too late. He arches an eyebrow. “Have many fellas visit, do you?”
“It’s none of your business.” I back up, putting a safe distance between us so I’m not tempted to jump him again. He glances around, and I’m painfully self-conscious of the small, rundown apartment, cluttered with makeup and shoes and books.
“Now, what are you doing here? And don’t tell me you were in the neighborhood, because I won’t believe that for a second.”
Caleb fixes me with an unreadable stare. “You didn’t return my calls.”
“I’ve been busy,” I lie.
“The rule is, you always pick up when I call. No exceptions. No excuses.” Caleb has steel in his voice, but for some crazy reason, I shiver with lust.
The man is turning me on even when he’s dressing me down.
I shake my head, trying to snap out of my daze. “Since when do I follow your rules?” I ask.
He glares. “Since you work for me.”
Do I? I pause. He’s looking seriously pissed, but that was a present tense ‘work’ back there, and if there’s even a slim chance I can keep this job…
“I owe you an apology,” I say quickly.
“Another one?” Caleb still looks annoyed.
I narrow my eyes. “I crossed a line, at the office. It won’t happen again.”
I stop when I realize he’s not paying attention. He’s looking around the apartment again, assessing it with that cool, calculating stare.
“Who do you live here with?”
The question catches me off-guard. “What?”
“Roommate? Boyfriend?
