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Nope. Not this girl, not Winter. She probably didn’t want me bringing women back to the room because she’s nun-status boring. Listen, I enjoy our banter, the fuck if I know why. But Sister Winter isn’t even in thevicinityof the type of woman I go for. She’s all kinds of sexy, in a so-pure-I-would-ruin-her kind of way, but she’d get a taste of what it’s like to let me own her body and fall in love. It’s happened before, and I don’t need that kind of headache. Or guilty conscious—I’m sure I have one in there somewhere.
“I don’t know, but it’s not because she’s interested,” I say. “And I wouldn’t care if she were. She’s a nightmare, trust me.”
I swallow down the rest of my whiskey, nodding at the bartender. “Close my tab, please. And put her next drink on it.”
“Of course, sir.” He nods.
“Rebecca, it was nice meeting you. It’s been a crazy few days, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to retire to my room.”
“Have an enjoyable night, Aleck. I hope your roommate knows how lucky she is.”
“Right, right. I hope your husband knows he’s not.”
She laughs, tipping her glass toward me. “Touché, Mr. Darcy.”
* * *
Sitting up abruptly,wearing nothing but my boxer briefs and a frown, I whip my head toward the window, finding only darkness and a soft glow from the pier lights in the distance.
I must have fallen asleep. I came back to the room to find it empty. So I retired to my room to send out a few emails and return a few calls and must have fallen asleep.
Relocating from New York to Los Angeles was already a hard case to sell to my clients. I’m in the middle of overseeing negotiations on a multi-million-dollar merger for one of my biggest accounts. The shareholders are breathing down my clients’ necks, which means my client is breathing down mine, and I don’t much like the feeling. I’m used to things running smoothly. I’m used to seamless transactions, mostly because there’s very little that gets a rise out of me, and I’m good at my fucking job. Now I’m taking this vacation, and they’re flinging their shit all over the boardroom like riled up monkeys.
No more distractions. This wedding, the move, my father’s pending retirement, my brother, my growing list of giant fucking problems, my new roommate—all grating at my nerves.
Mental note: Don’t let it. You’re fucking impenetrable.
I scoot off the edge of the bed, reaching for my phone to check the time.Midnight.Jesus. I haven’t taken a nap since I was like five. I make my way out of my room to get a glass of water, and when I exit the hallway, I see Winter in the dark kitchen, standing in front of the freezer in,what do you know,nothing but her boy short underwear and a tight tank top.
Good god, almighty.
She may be a pain in my ass, but hers is spectacular.
“Hey…” I say, rounding the kitchen island.
Winter jumps with a squeal, dropping her pint of ice cream and spoon on the floor.
“Jesus, Aleck,” she chirps. “You scared me.”
She bends down to pick up her ice cream just as I step behind her to pick up her spoon. My eyes immediately drop to take in the view of her ass pressing into my dick.
“Fuuuck. Grimm, permission to touch your ass?” I say, trying to stop the blood in my head from immediately draining into my cock. It would most certainly grow the distance between us, giving Sister Winter more than a little poke.
She giggles, which shouldn’t make me feel super fucking cozy, but it does.
“Permission denied.” She whips around and swats at my chest. “Perv.”
“You’re the one prancing around in your underwear all the time.”
“I sleep like this. Plus, so are you.” She sets the ice cream and spoon on the island counter opposite the refrigerator and hops up, lifting herself to sit on it. She squeals again, wincing at the icy surface of the granite on her bare skin. “Cold.” She laughs.
“There’s a barstool…” I nod toward the stools behind her. “You can sit your bare ass on a surface we don’t prepare our food on. Were you born in a barn?”
“No, a bungalow in Venice Beach.”
I smile at her childishness, then turn my back to get a glass of water.
Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I feel Winter’s eyes on me. I’m used to feeling eyes on me, to feeling observed. It’s the price of being who I am and looking the way I look.
