Chapter Eight
Andrea’s POV
“What if the maids walk in on… us?”
The words tumble out of me in a stammer before I can stop them. I am sitting on the edge of the dining table now, robe already loosened, heart hammering so loud it echoes in my ears. My legs feel shaky even though I am not standing anymore.
Tristan does not even blink. He stands between my knees, tall and sure in that sharp dark suit, and says, “They won’t.”
His voice is calm, like he has done this a hundred times and nothing can surprise him. I swallow hard and glance around the huge room. Sunlight pours through the tall windows. The table feels cold under my thighs. “We can just go to the bedroom,” I whisper. “It would be more comfortable…”
He looks at his watch, the expensive one that catches the light, and cuts me off
