I have to believe that—otherwise, I’ll sprint towards the door and never come back. Paycheck be damned; I’ll sleep under a bridge, if that’s what it takes. Because the way it is now, staring into the brooding eyes that hovered over me in the half-dark of that windswept hotel balcony, remembering the way he felt inside of me, isn’t something I can do every day.
Misha makes a big show of glancing down at his diamond-studded watch. “Three minutes to spare. Cutting it a little close, Ms. Masters.”
“I like living on the edge.” I hand him the signed document. It takes me half a beat to realize the unintended pun I made, then my cheeks pick up right where they left off in full blush.
He checks to make sure I’ve signed in all the necessary places, and then glances up at me like he’s surprised I
