Before undressing, I turn on the faucet at the sink, letting the water warm up.
I can’t bear to look in the mirror, but also can’t not look. It’s worse than I thought. If there’s a God, he’ll do me the honor of opening up the ground and swallowing me up to save me from the extreme embarrassment of having to face Jackson and his assistant again. But that does not happen for me. I quickly get out of my outerwear and clothes, keeping on my bra and panties, which are the only items that aren’t muddy or soaking wet on me.
Pulling one of the two clean hand towels from the nearby rack, I set it down on the counter beside me and wash my hands thoroughly before ducking my head under the warm water. It takes a couple of minutes to clean off all the foul-smelling Central Park mud, leaves and rain water. As I clear off the debris, I’m already expecting that it’ll cost an arm and a leg to take these clothes I’m borrowing from Jackson to the dry cleaners. Not that I have a choice now.
Once I’m finished with my hair, I wrap the towel around my head and straighten up to dry it off. My thick, waist-length hair will need way more than this little towel can handle, even if it’s the plushest, most expensive thing to ever make contact with my body. It’s only on reaching for the second towel on the wall that I realize something that causes me to momentarily freeze where I stand—in just my bra and panties.
I’m not alone.
7
Jackson
I didn’t intend to find Dahlia half-naked in here, but now that I do, I can’t look away. She’s in my space, and the door is open. The girl is stunning, so I don’t stop staring, even if I should. Who uses a restroom with the door open? Apparently, Dahlia does. Not that I’m complaining, now that I’m watching and can’t fucking stop myself.
As if on cue, my dick throbs in my pants. It liked seeing her the first time, and she was dressed then. The second time, well, she was soaking wet and in a robe. On my terrace. In my domain. What’s not to love about that? So of course, it’s straining to get out of my pants now that she’s in my fucking office, dressed in just her simple cotton bra and panties, looking like every curve and feature of her gorgeous body and beautiful face were put together just for me to enjoy.
Dahlia takes a long minute to realize I’m here, and when she does, she practically jumps out of her skin.
“What are you…I thought I was alone,” she says apologetically, using the tiny rectangle of hand towel to cover the front of her perfect body.
It’s too late, because I can’t un-see what she’s already allowed me to see.
“You could try closing the door to achieve that,” I mention, smiling with satisfaction as I return my focus to the file I was searching for on my office desk. “Besides, I saw a hell of a lot more last night.”
“You didn’t have to look,” she squeaks, pushing the door closed with one foot.
“That’s where you’re wrong, doll,” I say loud enough for her to hear me through the closed door. “No hot-blooded male is going to avert his eyes from a scantily-clad, gorgeous woman. Besides…my office, my view.”
I don’t catch what she says in her answer, but I’m late for a meeting with Jace, who’s already waiting for me. He accuses me of being a workaholic every chance he gets, and knows I don’t give two fucks about being at the office on a Saturday. Jace, on the other hand, is in a rush to leave. My older brother hates the idea of having to come in on the weekend, after the countless twelve- to twenty-four-hour days of negotiation sessions we’ve had with Mont Blanc Holdings, Gerald, and the lawyers this week.
“If you’re going to be much longer, Gemma is down the hall,” I inform her. “She can show you down to the parking level.”
“I can get myself home,” Dahlia tells me on re-opening the restroom door.
I don’t expect my own reaction when I see her there, standing in the doorway wearing my clothes. I shouldn’t have a response at all, given that the light blue button-down shirt and dark slacks would drown her tiny frame if she didn’t roll up the sleeves and pant legs. Still, I can’t help but let out a deep groan from the back of my throat. My fingers are itching to bury into her damp hair. Every instinct in me wants to close the space between us, drag her into my arms, and press her head against my chest as my hands explore her every curve while my lips take hers. The image of placing her to sit on my office desk, parting her legs, and wrapping them around my waist comes to the front of my mind. If I don’t get her out of my office right this second, I’ll end up balls deep inside of her, fucking her senseless on that very desk.
I should be stepping away, but find myself approaching her. Dahlia pulls her hair over one shoulder and starts to dry off the back with the towel in her hand. It’s an innocent move on her part, but Christ, it exposes the delicate, long lines of her neck and collarbone under my dress shirt, and now I’m back under her spell. As I resume my staring, I see a barely noticeable dark spot at the base of her ear lobe. It slowly changes shape while I’m looking at it, rounding out at the bottom, and elongating at the spot where it touches her earlobe. Gravity separates it from the base of her earlobe, and it drops to the edge of her shirt collar—my shirt collar.
Blood.
“You’re hurt,” I blurt out with what I feel is way more concern than warranted, but I can’t help myself. I’m in front of her a split second later.
“What?” she asks, clearly confused, and maybe a bit scared too. “No, I’m not hurt. Really, I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re bleeding. Don’t move.”
“What? Where? I don’t feel anything.”
“Shhh.” Taking the towel from her hand, I get to her side and dab the spot on her ear to see what kind of blood loss we’re dealing with. A slight streak of red reappears, but the blood doesn’t pool this time. “Looks like a scratch.”
“Oh. Yes, it’s probably from that last little stretch where Sheba ended up running off the path and took us through the miniature pine trees near the park exit.”
I slip past her into the restroom and open the medicine cabinet for the box of adhesive bandages. “Vivian should add danger pay to whatever your rates are,” I tell her as I take one out of the box.
“They’re really good most of the time,” she tries to explain, her eyes fixated on a spot on the wall in front of her as I take the bandage out of the wrapper.
Dahlia seems to hold her breath when I reach forward, and her lashes flutter as my fingers press the bandage down on her skin to cover the scratch.
“I don’t bite,” I whisper, but by now, my face is so close to the side of her head that I don’t stop myself from brushing my lips along the top of her ear. For an instant, Dahlia leans into my touch, but before I can react, she pulls away just as suddenly.
“I should go check on the dogs,” she blurts out nervously.
“You probably should,” I grunt out. “My assistant will see you out when you’re ready,” I add, and turn to leave before I end up taking things too far.
It’s my space, but this can’t happen. I hurry to get the hell out of there, taking a seat in Jace’s office without shutting the door. Finally, I can think straight and focus on the reason I’m here.