Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,67
the pillow.
I cross the cool floorboards toward his bathroom. When I flip on the light, I find the room to be even more impressive than I remember it from my hasty visit here at midnight.
Seriously. What the fuck, Gunnar? I’m still angry about his lies. I really need this job, he’d said. It tugged at my heartstrings.
And I hate feeling gullible. Why is it always men who make me feel that way? My father was the first asshole to make me feel like a fool. And then came Spalding.
My track record is terrible. Just introduce me to an asshole. Any asshole. I’ll believe him.
So here I stand in Gunnar’s bathroom, which would fit right in at the Playboy Mansion. There’s a bamboo floor and elegant glass tiles on the walls. Big fluffy towels wait on a gleaming towel bar outside the walk-in shower.
I’m so annoyed. But I’m going to shower like a queen anyway.
After taking care of business, I turn the water on full blast and wait for it to heat up. And then I slip out of the T-shirt Gunnar lent me to sleep in, and step beneath the warm spray.
Oh, this is heaven, even if it belongs to a liar.
He didn’t do it for a bad reason, my hormones weigh in.
“Shut up. You don’t know,” I whisper.
But then I zip my lip, because the bathroom door opens. And Gunnar walks right up to the shower, opens the door and slips inside.
“Morning,” he says gruffly. Then he leans down and kisses the juncture of my neck and shoulder.
And I am shook. “Morning,” I squeak. “What are you doing out of bed? It’s your day off.”
“It’s never my day off,” he says, grabbing the soap. He lathers up his hands and then begins washing my back.
I want to argue, but it feels really nice. So nice that I let out a groan as he begins to massage my lower back.
“Too much?” he asks quietly.
“No way. But I don’t know why you’re up, and I don’t know why you’re doing that. I can’t go back to bed with you. Someone has to make the pies.”
His hand pauses on my back. “I know that, Paxton. I just wanted to be near you. Turn around.”
Reluctantly, I turn to face him. The water rains down on us as I stare up into his gorgeous eyes.
“I’m coming to work with you this morning,” he says.
“Why?”
“Just to make sure you’re safe.” He picks up a bottle of shampoo, dispenses a blob into his hand, and then begins to rub it through my hair.
Holy moly. His hands are magic. Maybe I have some kind of undiscovered scalp-rubbing kink. It feels so good.
When I close my eyes to keep the soap out of them, it makes the moment seem even more unreal. I’m naked in a fancy shower with Gunnar Scott. Is this real life?
I plant a palm in the center of his chest. His skin is slick and warm. “Mmm,” he says, and I feel the vibration under my hand. “Are you sure you can’t open late this morning?” Soapy hands take a quick, gratuitous trip down my breasts. And then he kisses my neck.
“Oh, I’m sure,” I say quickly. Because if I get into bed with him again, I’m afraid I’ll never leave. I tilt my head back to rinse off the shampoo. “Behave yourself.”
I hear his chuckle, and when I can see again, Gunnar is already lathering himself up in a businesslike fashion. As if this were a perfectly normal way to start the day.
It could be, my hormones suggest.
But they’re wrong. Gunnar is a temporary blip in my life, and I’d better not forget it. I wouldn’t even be here right now if it weren’t for the mess I’m in. “How much danger am I in, exactly?”
Gunnar closes his eyes to rinse his hair, and I ogle him shamelessly while he can’t see me. There’s that tattoo again. A work of art, on a work of art. “Probably not much, but I don’t want to risk it.”
“Who was that guy last night?”
“I’ll explain while we walk to work,” he says, turning off the water. “Ladies first.” He opens the shower door, and points at the towels. “I’d offer you coffee, but I don’t have any. I don’t even have a coffee machine.”
I step out and grab one of the fluffy white towels. “Did you learn to make espresso just to work in my shop?”
“Yup.” He ties a towel around his lickable waist. “But if