I pushed myself up on my elbow, pressing my lips together to suppress the giggle that threatened to bubble over. “I thought you weren’t the romantic type.”
“This? This isn’t romance.”
“Inviting a girl to stay at your place and then plying her with expensive clothes isn’t romantic?”
He shrugged, then let his eyes roam over me from head to toe. “I’m not completely heartless, otherwise you’d be on your way to the Sheraton right now.” No argument there. “But you can’t very well walk around naked for the rest of the weekend.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Fine,” he said with a laugh. “You could. And I would like it. But it could get awkward if you ran into any of the staff.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “How many people does one person need to take care of him?”
“I think of it this way: how many people can one person supply a direct livelihood for?”
“I bet it doesn’t hurt that you’ve got servants to get you whatever you want.”
He went across the room to the seating area where he put the clothes in a neat pile on the armchair, arranging the robe over the backrest. My mouth went dry. Had I crossed some line in the sand?
But Jett came back across the room, undoing the buckle of his belt as he walked, dropping his pants to the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he climbed up, hovering over me, and kissed me deeply, like he was marking me. When he came up for air, he looked me in the eye. “Of course my staff gets me what I want.” His voice was low, commanding. “Sometimes I take it for myself.”
“Like right now?”
“Like right now.”
It was several hours before we went to sleep.
Even now my skin buzzes from his touch.
Don’t get swept away, Angelica, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. Jett Brandon wants me for one thing and one thing only: the passionate and electrifying sex that we’ve been having. And I can never, never forget it. I have no choice but to get him to trust me, to fall in love with me, but I can’t get sloppy. I can’t forget Adam. And when this is over, I need to remember that it’s just sex for him, no matter how much I might want him. Maybe that will soften the blow of never getting to see his face again, of him hating me.
The robe’s belt tied firmly around my waist, I go out into the hallway. Sunday is his staff’s day off, all except for Stuart, his driver, who is “on call.” Still, I keep my back straight, my shoulders back, and walk with purpose.
His office is just how I left it last time, his computer centered on the desk. There is one small blessing in all of this: the new thumb drive from Charlie doesn’t require the damn thing to be on.
Ears open for any sign of movement, I plug it in and wait for the lights on the plastic case of the thumb drive to blink. Approximately one hundred years later, they do.
Mission accomplished...for now, at least.
Chapter Fourteen
Jett
When I wake up on Sunday morning, Angelica curled next to me, sleeping softly, looking like a fucking angel with her sunlight hair spread over the pillow, my stomach twists into a knot.
This is almost too convenient—having the one woman I want to fuck come back to the penthouse every night for a few weeks plays right into my hands.
In one way.
The risks are obvious.
The closer she gets, the more she’ll know about me. The more we’ll know about each other. It’s going to be a fine line to tread, that’s for damn sure.
Because it was more than just common decency that led me to offer staying at my place while hers is under repair, and last night convinced me of that.
The more I have her, the more I want her.
A strange warmth suffuses every one of my limbs. She breathes in and out, her bare shoulders rising above the sheet she has tucked defensively around her, then she stirs.
I should take it back. I should make up some excuse for why she can’t stay here and have Stuart drive her back to the Sheraton before I let this go any farther.
But then she turns toward me, eyelashes fluttering, and the stormy gray-blue of her eyes in the early morning light makes my heart stop, then thunder ahead.
“Hi.” She closes her eyes again, stretching her arms above her head, circling her wrists against the headboard. “Watching something interesting?” The sleepy grin on her face is too much.
“Watching something beautiful.”
A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, but it’s chased away by another playful smile, a yawn. “Sunday.” It’s a thoughtful comment.
“What about it?”
She rolls toward me, tucking her hand under her elbow. “What does a guy like you do on Sunday?”