Another door slinks open at the same time as mine, and Daniel steps out from his room across from mine.
He rubs his right hand over his sleep-rumpled hair. The hand with the jagged scar that runs down the length of it—a mark I find incomparably sexy.
He unleashes a yawn, stretching his arms and . . .
Holy low-slung sleep pants.
His sleep attire answers all my questions from the dressing room earlier today.
Every last one.
We’re talking ridges, grooves, divots.
Abs for days.
And that V?
The vaunted V cut, which I shouldn’t have imagined he had, but I don’t have to imagine anymore, because he does.
Oh yes, he does.
I ought to keep my gaze above his neck.
But my mouth is watering at the sight of his chest, his stomach, his hips.
I will my eyes not to stray downward.
I’m not a pervert.
I’m truly not.
But . . .
My eyes are traitors.
They stray to his pelvis.
To the outline visible through the fabric.
An outline that leaves little to the imagination.
My gorgeous, clever, charming business partner is rock-hard.
Nearly naked.
And sporting one hell of a bedtime erection.
Now I have a damn good sense of what he looks like underneath those devilishly handsome clothes all day long.
He looks like a man I’d like to fuck.
But then I remind myself that some things are true, even if they won’t ever come true.
And this won’t come true at all.
2
Daniel
This certainly makes two a.m. better.
Then again, I don’t generally have any issues with two o’clock in the morning. But I especially don’t now, given the sight in front of me this very second.
Scarlett Slade, dressed only in a negligee that hugs her lush frame in all the right places.
The right places being her hips and her breasts.
Those are definitely all right by me.
So much so that I force out a laugh, mostly to cover up the groan that’s working its way up my throat, because this woman is stunning in next to nothing.
Stunning with a capital S.
Make that stunning with all caps, a few exclamation points, and an eyes-popping-out-of-a-head emoji.
I do my best to make light of the situation, mostly so I don’t let on that I’m insanely turned on by her attire.
Yet I’m also incredibly amused by her choice of sleepwear.
“Of course you sleep with an eye mask and three cell phones,” I say, pointing to her hand where she’s clutching all her modern technology. The mask is pushed up on her forehead, her gorgeous chestnut locks messy behind it.
She shoots me a searing look. “One is a tablet.”
“Ah, all the better to whack an errant chandelier shard with.”
She sighs deeply. “I grabbed them in case I needed to make phone calls or send emails.”
“You are armed for any contingency. Are you going to send a strongly worded email to the chandelier for not having the strength to hold on to the ceiling? Or maybe make a serious phone call to the wiring about its lack of stamina?”
She’s thoroughly deadpan as she answers, “I’ll have you know I’m ready to initiate the inquiry now. I’ll start with the email, and then be ready to follow up with a detailed call.”
“Excellent. You’re always prepared. And when the chandelier refuses to talk, just give him the cold shoulder and drop your sleep mask on.”
“And what may I ask is wrong with a sleep mask?”
“Nothing. It’s just so very you.”
“Why is it so very me, Daniel?”
“Because you love all your creature comforts. I bet you had them all lined up so neatly on the bedside table.”
She huffs. “Why do you think giving me a hard time about how I like to sleep is a good idea?”
I deal her a wry grin. “I’m not truly sure it’s a good idea. It’s probably actually a bad idea, but it’s entertaining.”
Also, it distracts me from how incredibly short that negligee is. Short as in thigh-grazing. Short as in just a few more inches and I’d know whether she sleeps in her knickers or bare.
My money is on knickers.
My dirty brain, and all its filthy wishes, is on bare.
But neither image is helping the “insanely turned-on” dilemma.
I am undeterred on my mission though. I must know more about her sleep habits. “Did you have both phones on, and were you using them in the middle of the night?”
Her lovely green eyes narrow. “And what were you doing before the chandelier fell? Did you have all your devices turned off?”
“Yes. I actually sleep with my phone off. Because, wait for it, I enjoy sleeping. In fact, if memory serves, I was having a rather good dream.”
Her lips go pouty, and her voice is all kinds of saucy as she says, “Were you now?”
My eyes drift down my frame. Hmm. The evidence is damning. “Oh, it seems obvious I was, doesn’t it?”
She presses her thumb and forefinger together to show a sliver of space. “Just a little.”
I scoff, gesturing at my crotch. “Oh, there’s nothing little about that, love.”
She tosses her head back, exasperated, clearly. “Oh my God, Daniel. Can we just deal with the chandelier?” She finishes her question with a laugh. A laugh she’s trying her best to swallow down.
I don’t let up though. She’s too much fun. We have too much fun. Always have, ever since she first advised me to invest in a hedge fund that turned into a money tree—she has the Midas touch. “Don’t you want to ask me what the dream was about?”
“No. I don’t think I do.”
I act all haughty. “Fine. I wasn’t going to tell you anyway.” I drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was dreaming about unicorns,” I say under my breath. “If you must know.”
She fights off another laugh, shaking her head. “Yes. I’m sure the magical creatures were prancing amidst rainbows. Now, the chandelier. Can we please deal with it?”
I slide into all-business mode. “We’ll deal with it by disposing of it and purchasing a new one.” After all, a broken chandelier is merely a . . . broken chandelier.
It’s not a shattered heart, not a broken body, and not a crushed dream.
“Don’t you think it’s a sign that maybe we shouldn’t have bought this place?” she asks as the sound of footsteps on the staircase drifts up to us. The maintenance crew must be heading our way.
I straighten my shoulders, giving her a curious look. She’s always been superstitious, as long as I’ve known her. But not like this. More like doesn’t-open-umbrellas-indoors and wears-her-favorite-scarf-for-good-luck superstitious. “Do you truly think it’s a sign, Scarlett?”
She holds her hands out wide, what gives style. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know, it fell in the middle of the night.”
The footsteps grow closer. “And we’re going to clean it up. I hear maintenance coming now. I’ll sort it all out. I promise. We’ll move on.” Moving on is what I do. It’s my specialty.
She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “What does it say about the quality of things in this hotel?” she whispers. “Did we make a bad purchase? We need to look more closely at all of these details. We need to analyze everything. I’m going to make a note to study this tomorrow. If a chandelier can fall in the middle of the night, we may need to do more research on all our electricals or our fixtures to be sure we’re making the best choices for all of our hotels.”