Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,31
he’s in there pleasuring himself to the thought of you in his tub.
Me: I’m positive he isn’t.
Neither of them replied, so I put my phone down and enjoyed the hot water for a little bit longer. I didn’t hear any sign of Shepherd. I was sure he wasn’t even remotely interested in what I was doing in here. He’d probably been in the bedroom to get something, or to change his clothes. Maybe he hadn’t been sure I was in here, so he’d paused by the door to see if the bathroom was occupied. Nora had this all wrong. He wasn’t aroused by the thought of me in his bathtub. The guy was practically a robot. Sometimes I figured he dated just to project the illusion that he was human.
Then again, when he’d taken me home from the gala, he’d seemed remarkably human.
I got out, took a quick shower to rinse off and wash my hair, and got ready for bed. Shepherd was apparently still in his office—did he ever not work?—when I stood facing the bed, my hands on my hips, dressed in my good morning sunshine t-shirt and shorts pajama set.
This was where things got real. I was standing here, staring at my boss’s bed, and somehow, I had to talk myself into getting in it.
A noise from the hallway made me gasp. He was coming. As quickly as I could, I turned off the lamp and jumped into bed, whipping the covers up over my shoulder. I’d pretend to be asleep. Then he could do what he needed to do, get in bed, and we’d both be spared the worst of the awkwardness.
I scarcely dared to breathe as the door whispered open. He clicked it shut almost silently. Was he trying to be quiet for me? That was nice of him. He went into the bathroom and closed the door.
The tension of the day was finally wearing on me. I’d tried to keep things light and friendly with Shepherd, but he was so serious. It was hard to know what he was thinking. At work, I’d learned not to worry about it. But this was different. I needed to figure out how to navigate this new dynamic, and I needed to do it fast.
My eyes were just starting to get heavy when Shepherd came out of the bathroom. My back was toward his side of the bed, but I swore I could feel his movements. Usually, he was brusque and exacting. I could envision him getting into his bed at night with authority, the way he did everything else.
But the man on the other side of the bed seemed to be moving with quietness and care. Was he as nervous about this as I was? Or was he simply hoping to keep from waking me so I wouldn’t bother him as he was trying to fall asleep?
The covers moved and I felt his weight slide onto the mattress. Oh my god, I was in bed with my boss.
Okay, this was fine. I’d thought about this ever since Nora had brought it up over martinis. It was part of the deal. Like Shepherd had said earlier, we were both adults, and it was a king-sized bed.
Neither of us moved and tiredness started to get the best of me. I was warm from the bath and exhausted from moving. His bed was amazingly comfortable, and I sank deeper into the mattress as my body relaxed. My eyes drifted closed.
And then he moved.
He rolled over, the silky sheets rustling against his body. Oh my god, what was he wearing? I hadn’t looked. Did he wear pajamas to bed? Was he in his underwear? Did he usually sleep naked and he’d have to get used to sleeping with something on since I was here? I wanted to turn over and peek, but I couldn’t move. It was like I’d been paralyzed.
In the silence of the dark room, I heard him take a slow, deep breath. I could imagine the air filling his lungs, his broad chest expanding. I wondered if he had chest hair. The hair on his head was dark and thick—chest hair seemed likely. And, oh god, did he have a happy trail on his lower…
Stop it, Everly. Stop it, now.
This wasn’t helping me sleep, and I had to work tomorrow. What was I supposed to say to him? Sorry I dozed off during the meeting, I was up late contemplating your body hair.