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He smiled and even laughed a few times.
His smile. Holy hotness.
It made his eyes a million times more intense. There was a spark, like it was trying to ignite a fire, and I got the feeling if that happened, he’d be irresistible.
His smile changes him from serial killer to devastatingly handsome.
I wonder if he even knows how much it changes his features.
Dressed in a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt with a hoodie, and sneakers, as per Max’s request, I’m checking my camera bag when he comes down the stairs.
My head lifts, and the air wooshes from my lungs. “Jesus,’ I whisper when I see the gray sweatpants he’s wearing. My eyes lock on the outline of his manhood beneath the fabric.
Holy. Shit.
“You’re going to give every woman a heart attack.”
Or an ovary explosion.
He pauses at the foot of the stairs. “Why?”
“You can’t wear gray sweatpants in public.”
A frown forms on Max’s forehead. “What’s wrong with sweatpants?”
I don’t even have the mental capacity to process my words before they leave my mouth. “They look too hot, Max. It’s like me walking in the streets in lingerie.”
His eyebrow pops up. “I doubt that very much.”
“To women, gray sweatpants on a man are the equivalent of lingerie. How do you not know this?”
Not able to stop myself, my eyes sweep over the said sweatpants. Tingles spread through my abdomen, and I start to fuss with my camera bag.
“I’ll be back in a second,” Max grumbles.
My eyes dart up, and I blatantly ogle his ass as he walks back to his bedroom.
Letting out a sigh, I draw my bottom lip between my teeth.
Damn, I should’ve taken a photo of him in the sweatpants. It would sell for millions.
When he comes out of his room again, I let out a groan because the black cargo pants aren’t much better.
He still looks hot.
He comes toward me and asks, “Better?”
I shake my head and admit, “Honestly, you could wear old-man pajamas, and you’d probably still look hot. At least everyone will be too busy looking at you to notice me.”
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Hot?”
I roll my eyes and walk to the elevator. “Don’t fish for compliments.”
Max swipes the keycard, and when the doors slide open, he says, “Cover your hair with the hoodie.”
I let out a sigh and scowl at him as he comes to stand next to me. “This is not going to work. The paparazzi will spot me a mile away, and they probably already know you’re my bodyguard, so you’ll be a dead giveaway.”
“It’s worth a try,” he mutters.
