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“Reid.”
“You can put the ugly decorations back up if you like. I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry, I’ll still tip.”
“Reid.” When I finally force myself to meet Noelle’s eyes, she looks… hurt. Baffled. Oh, hell. “Are you seriously saying you’d rather sleep out in a blizzard than share a room with me?”
Am I?
Maybe.
Because—all that silky blonde hair, tumbling over her shoulders. Those wide brown eyes and those plump, pouty lips. Noelle is rumpled from a long day, pale with tiredness, but even with that creased green dress and those shadows under her eyes, she’s still beautiful. Unearthly.
This is why I can’t look at my assistant too much. Once I start looking, I can’t stop.
“No.” My throat is dry. “But I assume you’d be more comfortable in this room alone.”
“Well, you assume wrong. Like usual.”
I glare at Noelle. She glares back.
“This will be fun,” she declares. Laying down the law.
“I don’tdofun.”
But Noelle smirks, raising one eyebrow. “Haven’t you noticed, boss? You do with me.”
* * *
Noelle takes a long, hot shower, groaning with pleasure under the spray. I hear every drop of water, every pleased sigh.
It’s torture.
Out here in the bedroom, I pace in agitated circles, trying not to picture my assistant’s slippery, soapy skin in there, the water running in rivulets down her perfect curves. Trying to not imagine myself bursting in there and shoving my way inside the shower and pressing her against the tiles, feeling those groans vibrate against my lips.
There is a line, asshole.
There has to be a line.
Honestly, I’m not sure where that line evenisanymore. But I know it exists, and I refuse to cross it.
Better safe than sorry, especially with Noelle. I’d rather spend the rest of my life miserable and alone than make my assistant uncomfortable.
She hums in the shower, the sound echoing against the tiles.
Gritting my teeth, I press the hard bulge of my cock, willing it to calm the fuck down.
When my assistant finally floats out of the bathroom on a cloud of scented steam, she’s dressed in a pair of the complimentary pajamas that we found in the dresser. The pants are far too long, bunching up above her feet, and the collared shirt slips to one side to show a glimpse of collarbone. Noelle towels her damp hair, watching me thoughtfully.
I scowl back, neck prickling at the way she’s got me under her microscope.
Becauseyes,my muscles are tense on my bones after listening to that shower.Yes, my face is hot, and my throat is tight, and I’m clinging desperately to the last thread of my control. What about it?
“No PJs for you?” she says. There was a second, larger pair in the dresser, with identical white and blue pinstripes.
“I’d rather die.”
Noelle snorts, padding to the bed and jumping up onto the covers. Bed springs plink, and one pillow slumps to the side.
“They do room service.” My hand is admirably steady as I point to the menu I left open on the quilt. “Pick something. Don’t take forever.”
