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I crack my lids open, and our eyes meet and lock. His nostrils flare, and with the utmost tenderness, he cups my face in his big warm palm. That’s when I understand why he wanted this position. He wanted to see my face, my expression. He wanted to see me, and he wanted me to see him as we tumbled over the edge together. As I stare at him, I struggle to breathe, to understand the true depths of what is happening between us. He lets out a loud growl and pulsates inside me. My lids feel heavy, but I don’t dare blink or close them. I want to remember this moment, to memorize every curve of his face. But a second later, the vision before me is gone, and he’s collapsing over my boneless body.
I link my fingers together behind his back, and catching me by surprise, his mouth is on mine again. His kisses are so slow, so achingly tender tears prick my eyes, and I squeeze my lids together to fight them back.
“This...” he begins, and lifts his head, his eyes searching my face. “This was everything,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I say, and he’s kissing me again. A long time later, he rolls off me and pulls me to him. I snuggle into his warmth, breathe in his familiar scent, never wanting to break this moment between us. I trace his nipple, and his body quivers. His hand closes over mine, and he brings my fingers to his mouth, kissing them one by one.
I close my eyes and bask in the euphoria of post-orgasm bliss. My heart slows and sleep pulls at me, until something Bevey said jumps to the forefront of my mind.
“Will,” I say sleepily.
“Yeah.” His voice is as groggy as mine.
“Do you make all your assistants wear French maid outfits?”
“What are you talking about?”
My head clears a little more as my heart beats faster. “I’m talking about all the outfits in the closet when I arrived.”
“Khloe, baby. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
My mind races back to my meeting with James. What the hell is going on? If Will doesn’t make his assistants wear the sexy outfits, who does? Surely to God, a ninety-year-old man couldn’t be behind this.
You’re perfect for Will.
“You said you thought your grandfather set Tate and Summer up, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, I think so,” he says, his voice fading. He shifts in the bed until we’re facing each other, and from the strange way he’s looking at me, it’s easy to tell he has something other than James and Tate on his mind.
He cups my face. “Khloe...”
Just then my stupid phone rings, and Will stiffens.
“Ignore it,” I say, dying to know what it was he was about to say to me.
“It’s been going off for a while. Whoever is trying to get a hold of you is not going to stop anytime soon. We’ll talk after you answer it.”
Before I can stop him, he’s out of the bed and fishing the phone from the back pocket of my shorts. His gaze lazily goes to the screen as he’s about to hand it to me, but then he goes still...too still. His mellow expression changes, his features morphing from confusion to anger, and in that instant, my entire life comes crashing down around me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Will
“WHAT THE FU—”
My gaze goes from Starlight written in bold letters on the screen to Khloe as she jumps from the bed and nearly falls on her face when her foot gets stuck in the tangled sheets. Her hair is a wild mess, and her eyes are huge as she reaches for the phone and snatches it from me like it’s on fire. It might as well be, considering someone from the magazine from hell is calling.
“It’s not what you think,” she says quickly as she puts the phone behind her back to hide it from my view.
“Seriously, Khloe?” I shake my head and almost laugh—manically. “I can’t unsee what I’ve already seen.”
“It’s not what you think,” she repeats, a measure of panic in her voice as she blinks rapidly.
The room spins around me, and I scoop my pants and shirt off the floor. As I tug them on, I say, “Tell me what I think.”
“Will,” she begins, and reaches for her own clothes. She holds them in front of her body like a shield. “You think I’m working for Starlight.”
My nostrils flare as I suck in a fast breath. “Are you?”
