“What. The. Hell?”
I shrug casually, then shove the pants to my ankles and step out, leaving them on the floor.
She squeezes her eyes shut for a second, opens them and lets her gaze drift down to my boxer briefs. Black and snug. I’m not sporting a raging boner. C’mon. I’m apologizing. It’d be a little tacky if I was pointing in her direction. Not right away, at least. But she is fine as sin, and as sexy as she’s ever been in those black yoga pants and a black V-neck T-shirt. A thin silver chain with a turtle charm hangs around her neck, and her blond hair is pulled into a ponytail. A tremor of lust rattles me as I remember how she liked me to pull her hair.
And the one-quarter in my shorts turns into a semi.
Her eyes stray to my chest, like she’s taking me in.
Good.
I’m not saying relationships should be built on the physical. But it can be one hell of a fantastic foundation. The way she looks at me tells me she likes what she sees. And I like the way she stares with heat in her dark eyes.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I say, because I can’t not.
Her hands flutter and seem to dust across her breasts. They’re not big. They’re small but firm and perfect. Perky, too. “Thank you,” she answers, but she’s not giving in yet. So I keep going.
“And you said I need to mean it. Here goes. I’m stripping for you, but I don’t want your brain cells to evaporate. I just want you to say yes.”
I strip off my boxers, let them fall to the floor, and stand naked in front of her. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. She looks at me, and yeah, I do have a hard-on now. No semi anywhere—the full monty deserves a full monty. Her chest rises and falls, and I love that I can tell she’s fighting with herself.
She purses her lips, then she brings her fingers to her forehead like she’s shocked I did this. Like she can’t even process it. “I don’t know what to say,” she says, taking time with each word. “You’re naked at my work, and I can’t even think.”
“I’m supposed to be naked.”
She lifts her head and points wildly to the massage table. “You’re supposed to be naked under the sheets, not standing here at full mast, showing off your rock hard body and perfect dick. I can’t think straight when you look like this.”
I rein in a grin.
She inhales sharply. “I mean it. I can’t think at all.” She turns on her flip-flopped foot, yanks open the door, and strides in the hall.
Oops.
That wasn’t part of the plan. Time to improvise, since I’ve got no choice but to follow her. I don’t want her to get away from me again.
“Give me a chance, Delaney,” I say firmly. I won’t beg. But I will speak my mind. I cup a hand over my dick and walk into the hall.
Double fucking oops.
This time the coast isn’t clear. It’s stuffed with people, who all catch a glimpse of my Garden of Eden attire, my hand mimicking Adam’s fig leaf.
A short, muscular, forty-something woman wanders out of the ladies’ room and snaps her head toward me, her eyes widening.
A masseuse sporting a long braid down her back steps out of a massage room, calling over her shoulder, “Yes, come see me again tomorrow.” Then she sees me and asks, “Are you my ten a.m.?”
I’m about to answer with a no when Felipe rounds the corner and halts in his tracks. His eyebrows rise, and he clasps his hand over his mouth gasping, “Oh my.”
I raise my other hand in a casual wave. “Like I said, not a fan of robes.”
As his eyes roam my body, he utters, “I’m not a fan of robes anymore, either.”
The muscular woman waves her hand, like she’s calling for attention in class. “Honey—” The woman levels a sharp gaze at Delaney. “You need to give that man a chance.”
Delaney smiles tightly, nodding a thanks that I’m sure is hard as hell for her to give. Especially since I have more supporters.
The masseuse with the braid pipes in. “If not, I’ll take your chance.”
With her jaw set hard, Delaney gives a quick, “thanks for the feedback” wave, then spins around, smoke seeming to billow from her nose. She sets a hand on my chest and pushes me back into the Rainfall Room.
She slams the door behind her.
7
Delaney
* * *
This stunt.
This crazy, ridiculous, over-the-top stunt.
This goddamn parade of flesh.
I just . . . can’t even.
Can’t even stand how ballsy he is.
Can’t even comprehend what the hell I’m supposed to think, feel, or do.
He waltzed out naked in front of my employees and customers.
And now he’s nude here with me.
I stand in the massage room, my arms crossed over my chest as I lock my gaze with Tyler’s.
Let me state this for the record—I didn’t drag him back in this room because of that body. I’m not that shallow. But it's impossible not to notice his finer features.
His shoulders are deliciously broad, his arms are muscular, and his chest operates like a magnet for my hands. I cross my arms tighter to resist the force of attraction.
Don’t even get me started on those magazine-spread abs. A six-pack is my shrine. I want to touch it, lick it, and rub my head against it like a cat rolling in catnip. Meow, indeed.
I dig in my heels. Push my toes against the soles of my shoes, like I’m holding firm with my feet alone.