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“No, I have them in here,” she mumbled, wrenching the zipper open. “I just forgot to take them into the bathroom.”
“Ah. I see.”
Please, let this moment be over. She dug through her suitcase until she found them, clutching them to her chest before risking a glance at him. He was, as she feared, looking at her. Their eyes met and she felt a bolt of something, a connection that made her breath burn and her pulse race.
His eyes probed hers like he could read her thoughts, and maybe he could. She hoped not, because her thoughts in that moment were terrifying. Thoughts of how lovely and broad his shoulders were, how much she liked looking at his face, how well he moved, how powerful he was, how he’d no doubt be incredible in bed. She sucked in a sharp breath at the last thought, her eyes heavy but unable to move away.
He put the laptop to the side, but didn’t otherwise move. She should go to the bathroom, should get changed and move into the bed, as far as she could get from him. She definitely shouldn’t just be standing there, conscious of the thousand and one ways her body was becoming aware of him, of the way her nipples were straining against the fabric of her towel, nor of the way her brain was throwing fantasies before her, fantasies that involved her naked body and his, fantasies that were wrong and stupid and would definitely achieve nothing except regret for Bronte. She had to remember that – not act on everything she was feeling. But oh, how tempted she was to drop the towel and see his reaction!
It’s the second cocktail! She knew that was true – this was so far out of her usual behaviour but something strange was moving through her – a daring that she hadn’t felt before.
“Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”
A small line formed between his brows and he shook his head, once.
“No one? Whatsoever?”
Again he shook his head.
Why was she still standing there? Why weren’t her legs taking her back to the bathroom? What was she doing?
“Do you really think I’m beautiful?”
Her question reached inside of him, finally galvanising him into action. This was getting out of hand. He had to do something.
He stared at her, torn between what he wanted with every cell in his body and what he knew he had to do. Not once in his life had he taken advantage of a woman who’d been drinking, and he wasn’t about to start now. Especially not this woman.
If only his body would get that memo.
“Si.” The word was gruff. He cleared his throat. “I think you’re stunning.”
She blinked, his answer surprising her, and in the small part of his brain capable of rational thought he cursed the bastard who’d given her any reason to doubt that.
She was practically naked.
Her skin creamy and covered in droplets of water, her long dark hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head, tendrils escaping around her face. His fingertips ached to tuck them back in place. Suddenly he was moving, pushing out of the bed and taking the few steps required to bring him to her.
Her breath jagged inwards.
She’s your assistant. Your assistant. She works for you. This is not okay.
“I was thinking about dropping my towel. A moment ago.” Her words were soft, her tone shy. He swallowed a curse, his hands moving to the knot of fabric holding it in place.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes flashed with embarrassment and surprise.
“Not because I don’t want you to, but because you’ve been drinking and you’re not thinking clearly right now.”
Her cheeks bloomed pink. He moved his hand away so he could lift his thumb to her cheek, brushing across the warm skin there.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
He stared down at her, frozen to the spot when her own hands lifted to the towel and began to unfasten it. “Bronte –,”
She held his gaze as she loosened it and damn it, he couldn’t look away, despite the fact he knew how wrong this was.
“Maybe Ashton was right. Maybe the safe, predictable, boring life we were leading was a bad idea. Maybe I should do something unpredictable too.”
