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But no.
He wanted to be near me.
And my heart did a little squeeze at the idea.
“Do you want to come in?” I asked, moving out of the doorway, and he padded inside like he owned the joint. “You were being pretty damn dramatic, dude,” I told him as I made my way back to the bed, climbing back in and pulling up the blankets.
I had just settled in again, with hopes of sleep on the horizon, when he started again.
Huffing.
Sighing.
“What now?” I grumbled as I got back up. “Do you want water or something?” I asked, going into the bathroom and emptying the decorative glass bowl of its contents—a fancy candle and one of those oil and reed diffuser things—then washing it out, and filling it with some cold water for him.
“We good?” I asked, setting it down for him, then once again trying to go to bed.
I had one knee on the bed when there was another dramatic sigh.
“Dude, what the hell?” I grumbled just as there was a knock on my door.
Before I could even tell him to fuck off, that I was off the clock, though, the door was swinging open, and there he was. In a pair of low-slung black pajama pants… and nothing else.
Great.
Fucking fantastic.
Just what I needed.
Because things weren’t fucked enough with the whole watching him jerk-off thing, then letting him kiss me in the kitchen.
Okay.
Let’s be real.
I’d kissed him back.
It killed me a little even to admit it to myself, but I had totally kissed him back.
In my defense, the man knew how to kiss. I was helpless against it.
I should have tried to muster some sort of defense, though. Especially after him calling me out for watching him masturbate like some freaking creep.
But, I hadn’t done that.
So I needed to just… get a freaking grip.
And stop eye-banging the man.
“I didn’t say you could come in.”
“I knocked.”
“Then barged right in without an answer.”
“I was looking for my dog. Figured he might be in here, but wanted to check.”
He had no right to be as sexy as he was right that moment. Cast in just a little bit of light from one of the fancy motion-activated night lights.
And that dark-eyed gaze of his was suddenly roaming over me, reminding me that I’d decided to go to bed in nothing but plain black panties that showed a fair bit of ass, and a tank top with nothing beneath.
And A liked to keep his house a little on the chilly side.
So, yeah, my nipples were totally poking through the material, something I was reminded of as his gaze lingered there for a second before lifting.
Focus. I needed to focus. Even if every inch of my skin that his gaze had skimmed over felt suddenly heated.
“He won’t stop sighing and huffing,” I told him, waving toward Val. “I invited him in. I got him water. And he still isn’t satisfied.”
“Mama, he wants to get into bed with you,” A said, and that damn, stupid, obnoxious pet name made my belly do a little flip-flop. “Can’t blame ‘em,” he added, that gaze moving from me, to the bed, then back.
“Why didn’t he just… get in then?” I asked, then watched A’s brow raise. “Right. Because he is trained. You have better manners than most men about getting invited into bed,” I mused.
Did A’s eyes go a little heated at that? Or was that just my damn wishful imagination?
“Go on, Val,” A said, waving toward the bed.
But Val didn’t get up. Oh, no, he turned and looked at me for permission.
“Guess you’re his boss now,” A said, making his way toward the door as I patted the bed, and the dog hopped right up, settling at the foot. “Get some rest. Gonna be a big day tomorrow.”
“Wait. What? What’s going on tomorrow?” I asked, completely on edge about the smirk he shot me as he stood in the doorway.
“Having a little get-together,” A said.
And with that, he was gone, leaving me staring at the ceiling, wondering what had put that little twinkle in his eye, and why my pulse was thrumming everywhere.
Eventually, I did pass out. With Val’s snores resembling a wood chipper, but my own thoughts somehow louder.
By seven the next morning, I finally understood that look in his eyes.
Because he’d invited the whole fucking organization over for an all-day get-together.
Which included two separate meals. Not just eggs with spinach and cheese, though.
Andres had left a menu on the counter.
Thankfully, he’d also left recipes.
Even with them, though, I felt completely freaking useless as I chopped vegetables and shredded cheese and tried over and over and fucking over to roll a burrito properly.
“Ugh!” I growled, slapping my palms down on the counter.
And it was right then that I realized I had an audience.
“You’re overthinkin’ it,” A said as he moved into the kitchen.
