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He single-handedly put every book boyfriend I’d ever read to shame, pushed every GQ cover model into the average column.
Dressed in nothing but a plush white towel that hung off his waist, the water droplets from his dark brown hair trickled down his muscled chest.
I followed one drop’s journey as it traveled to his six-pack abs, past his perfectly carved “V,” watching it travel lower and lower until it stopped at his huge cock-print that made me drop the umbrella.
OH. MY. GOD.
He tilted his head to the side, giving me a closer look at his perfectly chiseled jawline and his stunning almond-colored eyes.
“May I help you with something, Miss?” His deep British accent caught me entirely off guard.
“I…” I struggled to speak for a few seconds. “I need you to get the fuck out of my suite.”
“I beg your pardon?” He smiled a set of pearly whites. “I’m in your suite?”
“Yes, you’re in my suite.” I picked up my umbrella. “So, finish up whatever the hell you think you’re doing in here and leave. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to use this dangerous weapon.”
“Yes.” He glanced at the umbrella. “That does look rather dangerous.”
“You’ve got five minutes.”
“I must say, I’m impressed with your antics, Miss.” His gaze wandered up and down my body, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “This is an excellent game you’re playing.”
“I’m not playing anything.”
“Of course you are,” he said. “However, as long as you sign an NDA and promise not to post anything until tomorrow, I’ll allow you to take a picture.”
“A picture of what?”
“Me, of course.”
Is this guy serious?
“You’ll have to allow me to finish dressing first.” His towel slipped a bit, and he quickly recovered it. “Surely you can understand why a picture of me looking like this won’t work.”
I stared at him, beyond confused.
Sexy as hell or not, he was delusional.
“Why would I want a picture of you?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Uh, no.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m well aware of what a delusional hot guy looks like. There’s no need to keep a reminder on my phone.”
He blinked, and I tried not to notice that his towel was slipping again, that he was making no move to catch it.
“Please don’t make me call security on you.” I pulled out my cell phone. “I’ll do it right now if you don’t start putting on some clothes.”
He remained still, looking just as confused as me.
I glanced at my screen, noticing new text messages from Madison and Kristin.
Kristin: Is “Suite at the Four Seasons” a new drink on the Festival Suns menu?
Madison: Ohhhhh! Did they remodel/rename one of their sections?
Kristin:Glad you’re having the best birthday eve. Looking forward to capping it off with a special dinner in a couple of days. (We cash-apped you $400 to use for anything you want to eat tonight, btw.)
