you’d have plenty of time. Monday through Friday, you wouldn’t have to do anything for me. And privacy won’t be a problem. I’ve got a guest suite in my place that never gets used. If it suits you, you can have it. That way no one would question why we’re supposed to be married but not living together.” I’m relieved that he’s acting so nonchalant about the whole thing. Maybe he’s had other jobs even stranger than this one.
“All right. I’d have absolutely no problems with that.”
I look at him for a moment, once again feeling that wave of attraction that rocks me to my bones.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together.
“No. No.” There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him that I’m currently fighting the impulse to reach over and tear off his clothes. “It’s all good. So you think you want to do this?”
“You’re still willing to pay the price Aurora quoted?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Then I’m in.”
“Okay. Good.”
“Good.” His eyes are almost unreal. A vivid turquoise color that’s quite unnerving.
I glance away from him, up toward the counter. “Now that we have that taken care of, I might go get some coffee.”
“Oh, I’ll get it for you.” He stands up. “I should have asked you before. What would you like?”
“Just black. Dark roast. But I can—” Before I can finish my sentence, he’s already heading up toward the counter.
I watch him walk away—the way his jeans mold the tight curve of his ass—and then I force myself to turn back around.
It’s fine. It’s all fine. Damian seems professional and relatively low-maintenance. More intelligent than I was expecting. Yes, he’s too hot for my comfort, but I can deal with that. I’ll probably get used to it fairly quickly. I’ve got a perfectly healthy sex drive, but I’ve never been unduly bothered by random impulses in the past.
My current state of mind is probably because I’m not used to being this close to a man so good-looking.
Otherwise, Damian exactly suits my needs. This is going to work out fine.
He returns a few minutes later with my coffee. As he slides into his chair, he smiles at me.
Damn it. Every nerve in my body zaps into life again.
“What’s the matter?” he asks with a frown, evidently seeing something in my expression.
“Nothing. Really. Just do you have to be so good-looking?”
He blinks. “Uh...”
“I know. It’s not your fault. And you can’t do anything about how you look. It’s just kind of distracting.”
His eyes narrow, scanning my face, but his mouth twitches up slightly. “And you don’t like being distracted that way?”
“No. I usually don’t have any problems with that kind of thing.” I’m scowling now since it really is quite annoying that I’m finding him so obnoxiously sexy. “Can’t you like put on some glasses or something to dampen the hotness a little?”
He gives another soft huff. This one shakes his shoulders slightly. “In my experience, glasses don’t do anything to keep someone from being hot.”
“I guess. But maybe it’s worth a try.”
He’s trying not to smile. I can see it on his face. He quietly reaches down to his computer bag and pulls out a small case. He takes out a pair of glasses and puts them on.
I stare at him for a minute. Now he looks handsome and sexy and incredibly smart. I slump and mutter, “Damn it. That didn’t help at all.”
His huff this time is obviously laughter. He takes off his glasses and puts them up. “Sorry about that. You said it was worth a try.”
“Do you really carry fake glasses around with you everywhere just in case a client wants you to put them on?” I ask, my curiosity helping to shift my focus from the attraction.
“They’re not fake. They’re real.”
“Are they reading glasses?”
“No. They’re actually mid-distance glasses. I got LASIK done a few years back, and they did one eye for distance and one for reading. It usually works great. I just shift between them. But sometimes mid-distance is a problem. Particularly when I’m working on my computer for hours at a time. So I wear those when I need them.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say to that, so I ask another question. “You’re working on your dissertation? Isn’t that what Aurora told me?”
“Yes. I’m about six months from finishing it up.”
“What’s it on?”
“Early twentieth-century American literature.”
I know a lot about a number of things, but I know nothing about American literature. “Oh. So how did you get into this? I