And I had no doubt Jett was up for a fling all right. I could read it in his heated gaze whenever he so much as glanced in my direction.
What did he see that other men didn’t? I had no idea, and if he wasn’t my boss I might have asked. But as things stood, this attraction was unwelcome, and I’d be damned if I’d admit it to him by blatantly talking about it. No matter how much his undressing looks invited me to get closer to him, he was my boss and I wasn’t going to sleep with him. Again.
Jett’s bedroom was situated on the first floor, mine was on the second. Thank God for that. The few steps and extra ceiling between us provided a bit of protection, albeit a weak one. I had no doubt he’d be professional about the whole situation and wouldn’t impose on me without my explicit permission. The sad thing was that I sure as hell would give it to him if only he proposed. Which he wouldn’t, of course.
I knocked on the door gently. When he didn’t answer, I knocked once more, this time a bit louder.
“Come in,” he called. His voice was low and slightly choked as though he was in the middle of a workout.
“Am I interrupting? I don’t mind coming back later,” I said, hesitantly pushing my head through the open door and scanning the room. It was about the same size as mine and looked almost identical, but with stark masculine furniture, cherry hardwood floor, wide bay windows, a cream ceiling, and spotlights. A wide king-sized bed with a thick, cream spread and two rows of cream cushions was set up in the middle. The padded chair, night tables, and a mirrored chest were all a few shades lighter than the floor and built a beautiful contrast to the white walls.
By the balcony door was a computer desk. The notebook sitting atop it was still running. When Jett didn’t answer I entered the bedroom but left the door ajar. Ignoring the notebook’s screen and email inbox, I headed for the mirrored chest. And that’s when my gaze fell upon the walk-in closet to my left. Holy cow, it was huge, and by that I mean it would have served as a whole apartment in New York. No wonder the guy was out of breath searching through what looked like the whole floor of a department store.
“How can a man have so much stuff?” I mumbled, scanning rows over rows of shirts and slacks and expensive shoes. He’d made a fortune selling them on eBay.
“In my position you can’t be seen wearing the same suit day in, day out,” Jett said. My gaze snapped sharply in his direction, and I almost choked on my breath.
Apart from his navy CK pants, which were so snug they left nothing to the imagination, he was naked. I knew I was staring at his naked chest like an idiot, and yet I couldn’t force myself to peel my gaze off his glorious body.
He was all bronze skin and defined muscles. I bit my lip as my gaze wandered down his sculpted chest to the three rows of hard muscles on his abdomen—muscles my nails itched to graze and bury themselves in. My gaze followed his happy trail to the narrow hips. His underwear hung so low I could see just a hint of neatly trimmed hair and then a well-defined bulge—and a big one at that. Heat traveled through my abdomen and pooled between my legs. My pulse picked up speed, and a rush of excitement washed over me. I had never stared at a man like this. Then again I had never met such a fine specimen. Did I want to pull off his pants and see whether the real deal was as hot as the one conjured by my imagination?
Hell, yeah.
Would I do it?
Hell, no. Or at least I hoped not.
“Like what you see?” Jett asked, a little hoarse.
His voice jerked me back to reality. I was furious, as much at his cockiness as at my own reaction to the mere sight of hard muscles and taut skin. I bit my lip so hard it hurt, and finally managed to avert my gaze. “I think you asked the same question a while back, and I told you my answer back then.”
“Yeah, but your answer was a lie, and we both know it.”
“Was it?” It was a feeble attempt at hiding the fact that he was right. The question was meant to shake his oversized ego, maybe even leave a tiny dent in it, but it only managed to summon a crooked smile to his lips.
Dammit.
I loved those lips.
He inched closer until he stood mere inches away and his breath almost caressed my face. We were so close I could smell his manly scent—a mixture of shower gel and deodorant and him.
It was intoxicating. I wanted to bathe in his scent and to spread it all around me. To have it inside me.
“Was it, Brooke?” he whispered.
My breath hitched in my throat. I loved it when he said my name like that. It evoked all sorts of emotions in my lower abdomen and between my legs. I swallowed hard, probably too loud, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was—
“What do you want?” I asked so low I had no idea whether he had heard me.