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“I got up to go to the bathroom and knocked a piece of my luggage over.”
“Oh,” he said, coming into the room.
“I can pick it up,” she said quickly, then realized she was shining the flashlight directly on him. He was wearing a pair of snug fitting boxers that hung low on his hips. She averted her eyes when she realized she could see his navel as well as the very impressive imprint of his family jewels, though a part of her desired to see the rest of him. She felt herself blush at the thought.
“No problem. I can move it out your way, so it won’t happen again,” he said, heading toward her with that walk she thought was sexy.
What he could do was put on his jeans, but she wouldn’t tell him that. It wasn’t that what he was wearing was indecent—after all, she knew that plenty of men slept naked. DeWalt used to sleep in his boxers, too, for that matter. But her fiancé’s boxers had never fit him like this…
Roland’s masculine scent--clean, showered man--filled her nostrils and it was only through sheer willpower that she managed to stop her body from leaning toward him to get another sniff. She moved her phone, giving him some light as he moved the luggage out of the way. And it allowed her the chance to get another look at him. There was nothing wrong with that, right? It wasn’t as if she was touching…
Oh…my goodness. He was lowering himself to the floor, crouching down in front of her as he moved the luggage aside. But seeing him there, in that position…so close to her…it was driving her insane.
“There. The way is all clear now,” he said, straightening up. He glanced down at her bare legs. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
The way he was looking at her made throat tighten. “No, I’m fine.”
He nodded. “I heard you moving around in bed. Couldn’t you sleep?”
He’d heard that? She didn’t think she’d made a sound. As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “When I’m on assignment, I’m a light sleeper.”
Was that his way of reminding her she was only his assignment, just in case she forgot? And why did seeing himshirtless make her feel lightheaded? Then remembering his question, she said, “I’m having a hard time getting to sleep.”
“Understandable, after the day you had. Maybe try counting sheep.”
Lennox found herself drawn to the half smile around his eyes. Then she made the mistake of lowering her gaze to his bare chest and forgot to breathe again. His physique was magnificent—well-defined and muscular, with a trail of hair that led down to those boxers and beyond…
“Well, you better go on to the restroom.”
His words intruded into her thoughts and made her realize she was staring. “Yes, I guess I’d better,” she said. But he didn’t make a move to leave. Then she noticed he was looking at her hair.
“Is anything wrong?”
He shifted his gaze from her head to her face. “You’ve taken off your wig.”
Had he thought she would sleep in it? “That’s how it usually works, Roland.”
“I know, but you looked cute in it.”
“You like that color? Or is it the style?”
“Both. Don’t get me wrong, I like your real hair, too. But that wig made you look different.”
A smile touched her lips. “I think that’s the idea.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But what?” she asked, then drew in a sharp breath when he reached out and took a lock of her hair and twirled it around his finger. Standing here with him made her aware of the simmering attraction between them, something they’d managed to avoid acting on, so far. But then,they’d never been in this situation before. She could easily imagine that deep sexy voice of his whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he made love to her.
Just the thought of that made her shiver.
He suddenly dropped his hand. “But, nothing.” He stared at her for a long moment and then slowly began backing out of the room.
If desire was beginning to nip at him the way it was doing her, retreating was a good thing. “Sorry if I disturbed you, Roland.”
“No problem. By the way, I’ll take care of breakfast in the morning.”
“Thanks.” She hadn’t even checked the refrigerator or cabinets to see if they were stocked. After dinner, she’d done what he was doing now, retreating.
