Chapter 6
six
Jaclyn
Following Andrew down the hallway, I can’t stop admiring the way his bespoke slacks hug his firm ass—a very fine ass. Cheri would appreciate the view, and I contemplate whether I can get away with snapping a quick pic to send to her later.
Andrew glances over his shoulder and smirks at me. I swear the gorgeous fucker can read my mind. Dangerous. Confident. Dominant. Fuck me. I’ve never been so turned on in my life, not even when I’m reading the best spicy scenes. What is it about him and his stupid call me Daddy?
Yeah, never gonna happen. He’s my boss. Oh.
My. God. Just thinking about it sends more heat to my core, like I’m not already turned on enough.
I’m surprised I didn’t leave a wet spot on my chair after dinner.
My panties have never been this soaked in my life.
How the hell am I supposed to sleep in a bed that smells of him?
When we reach the end of the hall, he turns the doorknob and pushes the door open. He steps inside, flicks the light switch, and moves to the side to allow me in.
His scent hits me first. At first, I think it’s just from brushing past him, but as I step further into the room, I know that’s not it.
Every breath floods me with his scent—fresh air, sandalwood, and a touch of bourbon.
Goosebumps rise on my arms, and the back of my neck tingles as he steps closer to me.
The heat radiating off him warms my skin through the thin silk of my blouse.
As I look around his private domain, the mahogany wood furniture, dark and imposing, fills the room.
The massive carved wooden headboard rises from the head of the bed.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall.
Across from the bed is a matching armoire and triple dresser, with a mirror.
The right wall has two doors in it. I’m guessing to a bathroom and a closet.
Everything about this room screams culture, control, and wealth. It shouldn’t be possible with the rough-hewn walls visible around the furniture—like an oxymoron—somehow it works and fits him perfectly.
“I think you’ll be comfortable in here,” he says.
“The bathroom is through here,” he continues as he pushes open the first door on the right, and I peek inside.
Holy shit. Do his brothers’ cabins look like this, too?
They’re billionaires who choose to live on a mountain, but apparently, roughing it isn’t part of the deal.
This bathroom rivals anything I’ve seen in Architectural Digest magazine while waiting in the doctor’s office.
“I’m sure I will. Thank you,” I say, because what else am I supposed to do?
This cabin is nicer than anywhere I’ve ever seen—even the hotel Cheri and I stayed in when we visited her family in New York.
She’d said she needed me to run interference.
If I didn’t go, she’d have to stay with them, and she might not have been allowed to return to school.
“You can hang your clothes in the closet.” He pulls open the last door to reveal another enormous space.
Andrew’s clothing is on the left side, hanging and arranged neatly on shelves and in the built-ins.
The right side is empty, with what looks like a door at the far end.
Why would there be a door in the closet? Bizarre.
“If you need anything, let me know. There are towels in the linen closet in the bathroom.”
“Thank you,” I say again. It feels insufficient, but I’m at a loss for words. “The couch—” Before I can try to reason with him one more time, his finger presses against my lips, making them tingle.
“We’ve had this discussion. Sleep well, Sweetpea.
See you in the morning.” He looks at me like he’s trying to read my thoughts.
I pray he can’t; I’d be in so much trouble if he knew.
He cups my cheek, and I hold my breath, thinking he’s going to kiss me.
Time seems to stand still. I’m sure he can hear my heart beating loudly.
“So soft,” he murmurs as his hand slides down my cheek. Then he backs away and pulls open the armoire. After grabbing a T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats, he rushes out of the room and pulls the door closed behind him.
“Holy fuck,” I murmur and lean against the bed, sucking in air and trying to slow my racing pulse. Staying in his cabin is a terrible idea. I’m horny and terrified at the same time—how is that even possible?
The gigantic tub beckons to me when I stare through the open ensuite bathroom door.
But I don’t want to take the time; besides, what will I do if he walks in and catches me naked in his tub?
Yeah, nope, that’s all I need. Things between us are already weird.
Me naked? Oh, man. My brain screams, no, but my traitorous pussy says, yes, please.
Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I look around for my suitcase, finding it on the bench at the end of the bed. I don’t remember him having it with him, but probably because I was too busy staring at that sexy ass. Girl, you need to pull yourself together.
Unzipping the pink-trimmed Louis Vuitton case Cheri lent me, I rummage through it looking for my sleep shirt.
Instead, I find the rose-colored silk nightgown she bought me for graduation when she dragged me on a shopping spree on Fillmore Street in San Francisco.
Talk about sticker shock. The most expensive dress I own cost me one hundred dollars at the outlet stores in San Jose, or so I thought, until she bought me a complete outfit—lingerie, dress, and shoes.
When she saw me sliding my fingers over the softest material I’d ever felt and bought it, too.
They’d all still be hanging in my closet, waiting for a chance to return them, if she hadn’t forced me to wear the ensemble for graduation.
I’m not going to lie, wearing clothing that cost more than my entire closet combined made me feel like an imposter.
Damn. What am I doing? I need to pull myself together, and fast. My job is on the line. My whole future. I can’t give in to this attraction, because it will end, and then what? Nothing—no job, no prospects, just a broken heart, that’s what.
Andrew can flirt all he wants. He has nothing to lose.
Billionaires don’t marry women beneath them, certainly not a former foster kid who works for them.
It doesn’t matter that he’s my every fantasy come true, or that his scent stirs something inside me I’ve never felt before.
Or that when he touches me, little sparks of joy hop along my nerve endings. Nope. It. Does. Not. Matter.
I keep repeating that as I stand under the shower and let the heated water rain over me.
I try not to think about Andrew standing in this same spot, the water running down his abs, over his narrow hips, and the chiseled V I know has to be there.
Ugh. What the hell is wrong with me? Since I stepped out of that car, I’ve been a mess.
After rinsing the shampoo and then the conditioner from my hair, I wash my body as quickly as possible.
All the while, both hoping and dreading that he might walk in and catch me naked.
Did they put some kind of aphrodisiac in that lasagna?
I mean, it was delicious, but I’ve never reacted to a man like this before.
Maybe it’s the mountain. Is it cursed or something? Fuck. I’m just being ridiculous.
I left the towel sitting on the counter, so after grabbing it, I dry off, then wrap another around my hair, because, of course, I forgot to bring my blow dryer.
I stare at the closed door like it holds all the secrets to life, but really, all I need to know is whether he’s there, waiting for me on the other side.
Did he come back in? Or forget something?
Stupid. Ridiculous. Overthinking like usual. I’m twenty-six years old. An attorney. I don’t let anyone walk all over me. Men have flirted with me before; I handled it then. I’ll handle it now.
After my little pep talk, I pull open the door like it’s going to bite me, then breathe a sigh of relief when the bedroom is empty.
“See, biatch, stop being a Karen. Nothing to see here,” I reprimand myself, then grab the hairdryer and brush from my suitcase.
If tomorrow didn’t worry me so much, I’d shove my hair into a ponytail and say the hell with it, but I need to look professional.
Sleek hair, work clothes, makeup, heels—my armor—the same as for the office every day.
Presenting a polished persona, a mask that hides the former foster child, is always in place—only Cheri ever sees the real me behind the facade.
Hair now dry, I lift the silk gown and slide it over my head and down my body, caressing my skin.
My nipples harden and push against the soft material.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself—cheeks flushed, encased in blush-pink silk, hair shiny and framing my shoulders.
Even my normally dull blue eyes shine with desire. Fuck.
It doesn’t matter whether he’s in the room with me or not. His presence surrounds me. His breath brushing over my skin, the tingle of his touch, and the appreciation in his eyes.
C’mon, Jac, what about our pep-talk? I can’t do this.
Closing my eyes, I draw in a cleansing breath to settle myself.
Then grab my purse from where I dropped it on the nightstand.
I fish my phone out, toss it on the bed, and scramble into bed.
The king-size bed is so high off the floor that I need one of those handles, the ones they have in cars to help climb on.
I slide between the sheets that almost rival the silk of my gown and lean against the pillows.
It’s firm but soft. I know that makes no sense, but it’s true.
It should be perfect, except there’s a huge problem—Andrew’s scent surrounds me like he’s holding me in his arms. Dammit.
How the hell am I supposed to sleep in this bed?