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“Don’t you have sensitive information on here?”
He runs his finger over his jawline and shrugs. “Like what? Anything related to work is already password protected. What else would I have on my phone?”
Shaking my head, I cast my eyes back to his screen. “I don’t know. Pictures you don’t want people to see.” His brows almost reach his hairline. “Never mind.”
He steps forward, putting his hand over mine and blocking my view on the screen. “Claire?”
Sighing, I find enough strength to look up at him. His wet hair is falling onto his forehead. I’m reaching out and pushing it back before I can register what I’m doing.
He stiffens under my touch, and I drop my hand like it burns.
In the same breath, his thumb parts my lips.
I’m all too aware of how naked he is under the towel, and my clothes are suddenly itchy. He grazes his finger along the sensitive skin, but I feel it everywhere.
“What have you got on your phone?”
I drop my head. “Nothing.”
As he steps back, I almost groan when cool air takes his place. He presses his palms against the bedside table, leans back, and crosses his legs at the ankle.
The corrupted part of my brain is begging for the towel to drop, just for a second. I want proof his grey sweatpants weren’t being generous to him this morning.
But I already know the answer.
Everything about this man is intimidating.
I’m sure whatever is hiding under the towel is no different.
He chuckles. It’s deep and dark and sends goosebumps across my skin. “You’re full of surprises.”
“I don’t have naked pictures of myself. I’m not stupid. But men are and they love dick pics.”
He nods toward his phone. “Check.”
It takes all my power to keep it in my hand.
Biting down on my lip, I shoot him a crooked smile. “No need. Your towel has slipped.”
He. Doesn’t. Flinch.
Cocky bastard.
The towel hasn’t moved. I only wanted to make him squirm like I am.
“Put your clothes on, Williams. You’re distracting me.” I’m not embarrassed to admit it because he already knows. Nobody gets this flustered for nothing.
When I dial my number, the name that pops up isn’t mine. “You really changed my name to Trouble?”
“And infuriating,” he reminds me.
“What about the middle name?”
“Guess.”
“Hmm,” I hum, rocking back and forth on my heels. “Sweet?”
He barks a laugh.
