Page 46 of King of Envy

It seemed like a reasonable offer to me, but based on his frown, you would think I’d asked him to shoot a newborn kitten.

“You don’t have to.” I filled the heavy silence with more rambling. “I suppose your clothes have already dried, but it’s that stiff sort of dry, you know. From the rain. You might catch a cold or something.”Stop talking.Now. “But like I said, no pressure. It was just a suggestion if you, um, want to take it.”

Heat poured off my face.

I was already kicking myself for asking about his love life earlier, and I was only digging myself into a deeper hole with my incoherent pitch.

My intentions were innocent, but it sounded like I was desperate to get him upstairs to do something other than laundry.

A muscle twitched in Vuk’s jaw.

After another beat of interminable quiet, he pulled away from the curb and into the attached garage.

He was coming upstairs.

Anticipation sank beneath my skin as we parked and took the elevator to the twentieth floor. Vuk was the first man I’d invited to my apartment in months besides the maintenance guy. The platonic nature of his visit didn’t matter; my nerves rattled all the same.

We reached my apartment. I unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”

I’d lived with roommates my first four years in the city until I saved up enough money for my current place: a cozy one-bedroom with fantastic views. It was close to the subway and filled with natural light, which were my two musts when I’d been apartment hunting.

The monthly rent was absurd, but it was worth it. Giant windows overlooked Manhattan, and one of them even came with a deep window seat for reading and daydreaming.

Bold splashes of colorful art adorned the walls. Natural-fiber rugs covered the pale wood floors while hanging plants added a touch of greenery to the space. A thick orange blanket I’d knitted on a sleepless night draped over the back of my couch.

The blanket wasn’t my best work, but it was the first knitting project I’d ever completed, and I was damn proud of it.

I glanced at Vuk as he stepped inside. His gaze swept around the airy space, and I tried to imagine it through his eyes. What did he see when he looked at that blanket or the collection of empty perfume bottles lining the living room shelf?

It was impossible to tell.

We took off our shoes, and I gave him a quick tour of the apartment. Living room, kitchen, the corner I’d set up for photos and virtual interviews. I purposely avoided the bedroom.

“The bathroom is over there.” I gestured down the hall. “I can throw your clothes in the dryer while you—oh.”

Vuk pulled his shirt over his head.I’ll keep my pants on.He didn’t look at me.Where’s the laundry room?

I swallowed past a dry throat and wordlessly opened the closet containing one of the most coveted items in Manhattan: an in-unit washer/dryer. No one had an actualroomfor laundry unless they were Markovic-level rich.

While Vuk tossed his shirt in the machine and selected the appropriate settings, I tried not to stare. I really did.

However, it was impossible not to indulge in an eyeful when he was standing less than a foot away. His back was turned, giving me ample cover to admire the sculpted architecture of his torso.

Muscle corded his arms and back, and his shoulders spanned the width of the doorway. His thighs were tree-trunk thick. When he finished with the dryer and pivoted toward the bathroom, I glimpsed a light dusting of hair that trailed over his chest and disappeared into his waistband.

A maddening rush of awareness zipped down my spine. How dare my hormones miss the memo that I wasn’t supposed to ogle my fiancé’s best man? And how dare he walk into my apartment and take up so muchspacethat I could scarcely breathe? It was downright rude.

I forced myself to wait until the door closed behind him before I walked to the kitchen and busied myself making two cups of tea.

I’d seen men shirtless before. Hell, I’d seenVukshirtless before.

But never in such close proximity. Never here, in my apartment, steps away from where I?—

“Shit!” I cursed as the mug overflowed and tea scalded my hand. I took it as a sign that even the universe didn’t approve of my inappropriate thoughts.

By the time I finished cleaning up, Vuk had exited the bathroom. He joined me in the kitchen, his presence so domineering it instantly demanded attention.

“Here. I made you some tea.” I pushed a steaming mug across the marble island and resolved not to look anywhere below his chin. “It’s a special Ethiopian blend my mom made. It should warm you up while we wait for your shirt to dry.”

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