Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,67

corner is deep enough to stand in? Or that the all-glass shower stall is twice the size of my entire bathroom and equipped with five rotating showerheads? None of that impresses me, not even the futuristic-looking toilet with a built-in bidet and a seat that warms my butt.

Oh, who am I kidding? I couldn’t be more impressed if the furniture levitated around me. The 0.1 percent really do know how to live.

Shaking my head, I go back into the bedroom to try to find my clothes again.

No luck—though I distinctly remember my jeans and sweater landing on the floor as Marcus yanked them off me. He must’ve picked them up and put them somewhere, but where? I don’t see them in the walk-in closet, where Marcus’s suits and shirts hang neatly, sorted by color. Nor are they in any of the drawers in the sleek white chest inside the closet. There are just socks, T-shirts, men’s underwear—I close that drawer fast, feeling like a perv—and other foldable items of clothing. Like the rest of the closet, everything in the drawers is arranged with perfect neatness, as if Marie Kondo just blitzed through the place.

Either Marcus has OCD or his butler does.

My boots are also nowhere to be found, but that makes more sense. I left them in the entryway, not wanting to track New York City dirt all over the gleaming floor when we came in.

I stand up on tiptoes to peer into a built-in shelf in the faint hope that Marcus might’ve stuffed my clothes in there. Nope. Just a box with cufflinks and—

“Emma?”

Heart jumping, I spin around to face Marcus, who’s standing in the closet doorway, dark eyebrows arched.

Oh, crap.

I should’ve realized how this could look.

“Hi. Good morning.” I sound breathless—and probably guilty as sin. “So sorry, but my clothes, they weren’t there. I swear, I wasn’t trying to snoop. It’s just that I was looking for my clothes and—”

“It’s okay.” He steps in, a slow, wicked smile curving his lips. “You can snoop all you want. As for the clothes, I gave them to Geoffrey to be laundered. They should be ready in about an hour.”

“Oh.” That someone would wash my clothes hadn’t even entered my mind. “Okay, thanks.”

So much for my plan to make a quick escape this morning.

“Do you have someplace to be?” he inquires, cocking his head, and my cheeks warm as I realize he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a soft-looking T-shirt—the first time I’m seeing him in something other than his business attire.

Or naked.

Because I’ve definitely seen him naked.

Stop thinking about sex, Emma. And stop blushing. “My cats will be upset if I don’t come home soon,” I say, my face burning despite the admonitions. “And I’m supposed to Skype with my grandparents at 11:30. Speaking of which, do you know what time it is?”

He grins. “Last I checked, it was 11:23.”

“What?”

“What can I say? You didn’t get that much sleep last night.”

Because he kept waking me up by sliding into me, or going down on me, or sucking on my—oh God, here I go again.

“Right, okay.” With effort, I focus on something other than the way the soft material of the T-shirt hugs his defined pecs. “Where’s my purse? I need to text my grandparents to reschedule.”

“Why? You can Skype here. My internet is really fast, and I’ll give you privacy.”

I blink. “Here? As in, your bedroom?”

“Or library or guest room—wherever you prefer. You might not want to do it downstairs, though. Geoffrey is cooking up a storm for brunch, and the smells will drive you crazy.”

He’s driving me crazy. Doesn’t he realize that if I Skype my grandparents from some place other than my apartment, I’ll have to explain where I am?

“No, that’s okay, thanks. I’ll just—”

“Why not?” He folds his powerful arms across his chest, drawing my attention to the flexing muscles. “Food won’t be ready for another half hour, anyway. Geoffrey started cooking late, as I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.”

I tear my eyes away from those impressive biceps. “You don’t understand. My grandparents are nosy—really nosy—and I don’t want to lie to them and claim I’m in some fancy hotel.”

“Why would you lie to them?”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Well, I’m not going to tell them that we… you know.”

“Why not? Are they old-fashioned? Do they expect you to wait until marriage?”

“No, they’re actually pretty liberal, but they’re my grandparents.” How dense is he? “If I tell them about you, they’ll think it’s a