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Also, my attraction to him needs to be kept in check.
He’s making it clear he wants this to be more than one night, and while I don’t think he’s a New York asshole I should avoid, I didn’t come home for anything more than to refill my bank account so I can see more of the world.
Owen is a decent guy. I don’t want to mislead him. I’m here for twelve months only. It wouldn’t be fair to him to begin something that can’t go anywhere.
I spend a good amount of time on these thoughts. By the time I step out of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe, I’ve managed to get all my thoughts into a knotted mess while my nerves have gotten my body into the same. This isn’t an unusual thing for me, but I’ve reached a whole new level this morning. Thisall-new levelthing seems to be an Owen specialty.
I silently count every step I take from the bathroom into the bedroom. Owen is nowhere in sight, but I can hear him out in the suite talking.
I count more steps as I walk from the bedroom to the sitting room, and through to the living room where Owen’s standing in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on his phone, looking out over the city.
He’s wearing his trousers but no shirt, and I stare at his back. At the muscles moving under his skin as he lifts his arm to run his fingers through his hair.
Fragments of memories from last night flash through my mind.
Kissing his back.
Digging my nails into his back.
Holding onto his back while he fucked me.
I squeeze my thighs together.
This is not the moment to be thinking about these things.
I divert my gaze to the left, to the dining room. When I spot my dress on one of the chairs, I quickly dart toward it.
Must get dressed.
Must grab my phone and purse.
Must get out of here.
“Charlize.” I’ve just seized my dress when Owen’s deep voice cuts through the air.
I stop and turn to face him.
He strides my way, his eyes greedy for me, tracing my curves before meeting my gaze. “You know,” he murmurs as he slides his arm around my waist and pulls me close, “I liked your bed head.” He brushes his lips over mine, sending my pulse racing. “It was sexy as hell and reminded me of all the things we did last night.”
Could his voice be any sexier?
It does things to me.
Delicious things that make thinking hard.
Like,reallyhard.
Particularly when the nervousness I’m experiencing is already making that difficult.
I hold up my dress. “I’m going to get dressed and go.”
A slight frown creases his forehead. “You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I blurt.
Jesus, is that the best I can come up with?
I mean, I told him I was famished.
