Rowan #2
I’m confused by the nickname. Nothing about Milo screams goblin, but I find myself thinking it suits him. I don’t have time to dwell on why that is, since Milo pops his eyes open with alertness, as if he hadn’t just been snoozing for the last hour, and then we’re exiting the SUV.
Milo folds his Ray-Bans and slides them into the pocket of his hoodie. The fabric pulls up at his belly as he stretches his arms over his head. His jeans are low cut and give me a peek of lean muscles, bare of hair, and a sparkle of something in his belly button.
Is that a piercing?
And just the fact that I can see his belly button piercing means he’s not wearing anything underneath that thin hoodie. He’s dressed like he’s planning a chill day in Palm Springs rather than braving the cold of the Northeast.
Even if he was out of town until today, surely he must have heard about the snowstorm? Surely he has a plan to keep himself warm other than shivering in his single layer of protection?
Apparently not. Milo crosses his arms and starts trembling. He makes a whistling sound that’s a cross between a low brrr and sucking in cold air. Just looking at him makes me feel cold, and I’m about to give him the coat off my back, but Ray is rushing us forward before I get a chance to.
Ray is almost a foot shorter than me, but he’s speeding ahead like a true New Yorker. Milo and I are practically sprinting to keep up, which I guess does wonders in warming Milo up. The snow has stopped, but the cold is still sticky in the air.
Someone is already waiting for us in the lobby and gives us a quick greeting as soon as we enter the building, before herding us to the elevators.
She speaks so fast I don’t catch her name, but Ray is completely tuned in to their discussion of suitable fabrics and buttons.
Milo’s eyes dart around the elevator, taking in the magazine covers featured on the wall, and I have the distinct feeling he’s either disinterested or as lost in the conversation as I am.
A horde of people meets us when we reach our floor and promptly whisks Milo away. Ray’s still in deep talks as we follow them into what looks like a giant fitting room. Clothes and fabric are thrown all over, probably organized by some arbitrary system that goes way over my head.
The horde ushers Milo onto the platform in the middle of the room, where he unceremoniously strips down to his black Polo Ralph Lauren boxers.
Nobody bats an eye. Everyone goes about their business, grabbing measuring tapes and fabric to compare against his skin, and I’m…trying not to look at him.
It’s a harder task than getting my name spelled right on my coffee order.
Rowing or Roann might as well be my new name, because I can’t stop my eyes from trailing over his flawless form.
Lean muscles hug him in all the right places, and his defined V-line dips under his boxers. It takes everything in me to keep from staring at him and his sizable bulge. To stop looking at him in general.
I can’t get over how sexy the belly button ring looks against his skin. A sparkle that holds my attention. On him.
I find myself a relatively free wall to stand by as my sister’s voice echoes in my head.
Psycho, psycho. Perverted psycho.
I can already imagine Riley catching wind of me drooling over my newest client with her super-secret spying skills. She claims she’s not a spy, but I’m still not convinced, and I’ll be damned if she finds out I’m reacting this strongly toward someone.
It’s been so long since someone’s gotten my blood rushing like this, and I doubt his looks have anything to do with it. In my line of work, being surrounded by beautiful men and women is a given.
Most celebrities I know are vain and dressed to the nines, regardless of their location. Not dressed in a plain gray hoodie that does nothing to show off his body or keep him warm.
I can’t put my finger on why, but I’m drawn in like a fucking magnet. My gaze naturally falls on him, like I’m both anticipating something and wary of what I’ll find.
Milo’s playing dress-up doll and letting himself be put in dozens of different outfits that all look like they’re tailor-made for him. It’s annoying how he looks good in everything…and in nothing at all.
The stylists and Ray look serious as they go through their options. Milo’s expression is too neutral for me to gauge how he’s feeling, but his eyes are zooming around again, taking everything in.
His gaze meets mine, and they still.
Time slows—or maybe it’s my heart that does—and all I can focus on are those soulful gray eyes and how Milo seems to be keeping the fire inside dimmed for whatever reason.
Milo stares back, too, and I’m left momentarily breathless by the intensity of his gaze. He’s locked in on me like the people rushing around him don’t exist. Like I’m the only thing he sees.
Ray says something to Milo, and the moment breaks. My pulse kicks up in an erratic beat that leaves me feeling all bothered and confused.
There’s no denying the interest, not that it matters, because crushing on a client is a huge no-no, and I’m nothing but professional. So whatever strange emotions this pop idol draws from me needs to be firmly locked away with the damn key thrown away.
Milo Tobitt is off-limits, and there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it!