Page 25 of He Has Charm

“You’re the best, Shelly. It’s been too long and now I remember why you were my bestie.”

“What’s this with past tense? We’re still besties.” She gives me a hug and I walk her back out to the door, sneaking a look in the direction of Knight’s room. His door is still closed and in my mind’s eye I see him splayed across the bed sleeping, hair all mussed. Shirtless…

“Call me tomorrow with the deets to meet at the Garden for the game,” Shelly says as she steps into the hallway. I nod and give her one last hug because she really is going to be my lifesaver for the next four months.

I return to my room and sort through all the clothes, relieved that I finally have a suitable pair of pumps to wear with my business suits, though not as special as the ones I lost. Checking my phone, I see it’s getting late and Knight has a haircut appointment coming up so I arrange for some food to be brought up ahead of the barber appointment then wander out to the main room. His door is still closed and I’m staring at it, considering knocking to wake him, when it flies open.

He emerges half naked. He’s dressed only in his boxers and looking far better than I recently imagined. I suck in a breath and snap my eyes back to his face, determined to keep them there.

“I need a shower,” he says, “but the one in my bathroom’s not working. Is yours?” He walks past me, his hair looking deliciously rumpled, his face dark with unshaven stubble that my palm itches to scrape across and his eyes still sleepy. He heads into my bedroom and I snap from my stupor rushing in behind him.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Too late. He stands in the middle of the room, taking in the array of clothing and other effects still spread out on my bed. It’s all out in the open, laid out like a display of my personal life. Shit. He turns and gives me a look.

“Nice underwear.” He winks, and there’s nothing half asleep about him right now, his muscles on display from his broad sinewy chest, sculpted abs, and… so much more. My eyes wander down, unable to resist checking out the wood tenting his boxers as he checks out my intimate apparel. His eyes are on my hot pink and black VS matching bra and thong. They’re in my arsenal of secret weapons along with my Christian Louboutin heels to combat occasional feelings of inadequacy in my daily dealings with the super men and women of the sports world.

I withstand his wink without flinching and he saunters into my bathroom. My automatic reflex is to follow him, but I stop short and thank god he didn’t notice. I stand outside the open bathroom door and hold myself back from going in and pulling it closed behind me.

He turns the water on in my shower and I hear the spray. Thank god my shower works and it’s only his shower that’s broken.

“Looks like yours is working,” he says when he comes out of my bathroom.

“I’ll call the hotel manager.” I pick up the phone right away and tap on the button. He keeps his eyes away from the bed and I can tell he’s impatient to take his shower. After a few seconds on the phone, I hang up.

“They’re sending someone. I’m sure they’ll have your shower fixed up in no time.” I escort him back out of my bedroom, careful not to touch him, to keep my hands off those impressive muscles, hard and bulging biceps and chest covered in a light sheen of sweat that makes him glisten. Even from behind, watching his back and shoulders rippling, his thigh and calf muscles bunching and unbunching with each graceful step, I feel the power and energy coming off him. I make the mistake of breathing deep, taking in that ridiculously intoxicating male scent of his.

“Why don’t you get dressed while we’re waiting?” My voice comes out high but otherwise calm and reasonable. He gives me one of those looks that says I know what you’re thinking. I know you’re salivating at my half naked body and having a hard time resisting.

Okay, maybe his look implies a general accusation and it’s mostly my guilty conscience projecting all the details again. Either way, I heave a sigh of relief when he goes back into his bedroom without saying a word. When he comes back out a minute later in a T-shirt that says I Do my balling on Virginia Beach paired with his standard gym shorts, I resist commenting. A second later, the knock on the door relieves us from having to carry on a conversation. I’m irrationally thrilled to open the door to let the hotel’s plumber and a manager inside.

They gawk at Knight and address him as if I’m not in the room because after all, he’s the celebrity. I could really use my confidence boosting Christian Louboutin heels about now.

Eight

Maddox

“Your bathroom will be fixed by the end of the day, sir.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” I don’t want to be a bastard, but I also don’t want to go around stinking and grimy the rest of the day. The manager exchanges glances with the plumber.

“Luckily the bathroom in the second bedroom works perfectly and perhaps you can use that.” He smiles and I notice Harper’s eyes flare like bright green fireflies and her mouth opens. But as soon as I catch her gaze with my smirk, she shuts her mouth and goes all official on me. She has quite a talent for being a quick emotional change artist. Except I know the change in her expression doesn’t run very deep. Whatever banked passions she’s hiding are simmering so close to the surface my hand itches to touch her, to caress her flesh until those passions bubble over into my hands.

“Isn’t there another room we can move to?” she says in a commanding voice, channeling a nun I used to know back in second grade, I swear.

“No other suites. But there is one single room if you—”

“No. That’s okay. We’ll stay here. It’s only one more night. No big deal.” She drops the commanding nun act right away and goes with scared little nun afraid of beds and men. She has range, I’ll give her that, and I wonder if it’s me who has her so confused and unable to be her true self. Of course it’s you, shithead. You’re a pariah porn star. Every good girl’s worst nightmare.

After removing some faulty hardware in my shower, the plumber leaves with the manager. Harper does her duty giving him the expected tip on the way out the door. When the door closes behind them, she stares me down with the return of that fiery passion I’m becoming addicted to, like my personal pretty fireworks display setting off all kinds of pleasure centers in my brain every time I watch her eyes snap and her nostrils flare under the tight rein of her control.

I’m about to ask permission to use her shower when there’s another knock on the door. It’s room service and I’m ravenous as always when I wake up. For one thing or another. I flick my eyes at her auburn hair and wonder if it’s that color all over, then I breathe in the unmistakable scent of rosemary chicken and eye the covered platter.

“You ordered me food. How’d you guess I’d be hungry again?” I raise an eyebrow to suggest my hunger for more than food. She rolls her eyes as the server sets up a table for two in the spacious room. I take a seat. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s anticipated my needs. Since I’ve met her, she’s been on top of everything—everything but me. Stop the fucking depravity, Madman. You’re no longer that person. You’re the gentler, saner, more boring Maddox.

After she tips the server, she watches me.

“You’re not eating?” I say.

“Of course not. I don’t need a gazillion calories a day to make phone calls and tap keys on my computer.” She paces a small circle. I put a forkful of the deliciously seasoned chicken into my mouth.