Page 17 of Beautiful Distraction

His face has been a part of my daydreams for so long that Ifeel as though I’ve known him forever. Maybe not so much the face as the chestand bulging biceps. Everything about him feels way more familiar than it shouldbe. The fact that in my mind I’ve had sex with him more times than I rememberis both hot and embarrassing—and now it comes back to bite me in the assbecause I can barely look at him without the telltale heat of a major blushrushing to my face.

“Can I have a word in private?” he asks no one inparticular.

I assume he’s talking to me, so I drop Mandy’s suitcase andkick off my shoes, then shrug off the soaked jacket, hanging it up on a hooknear the door. I turn to Mandy. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

My heart pounding in my chest, I follow him into the dimlylit kitchen, unsure what to say.

Will he kick us out?

It’s quite possible, isn’t it?

His expression is stony. His arms are crossed over his chestas he leans against the doorframe. Even though half of his face is obscured bythe weak light, he’s so gorgeous for a moment I forget what I’m here for as Ipeer up at the six-foot-two angry statue of the guy.

“I said no suitcase,” he says quietly.

“It’s not mine.”

He glances over my shoulder to Mandy in the hallway. “Ifit’s not yours, then that’s fine.”

This issopersonal.

My jaw drops. It takes every ounce of my willpower to biteback a snarky remark.

He must really hate me, or more likely, he’s trying topunish me. His arrogance is monumental. You can probably see it from outerspace. And it irritates the hell out of me.

“Thank you for letting us stay,” I say loud enough for Mandyto hear. “You’re very generous.”

Not.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, as though he wants toutter something, but then decides otherwise.

Eventually, he nods. “Follow me.”

He gestures for us to follow him from the hallway into theliving room.

I try not to gawk.

Compared to his flashy car, the room is rather simple and looksin dire need of renovation. There’s a worn sofa on the east side, a wholelibrary on the west side. A huge, old-fashioned fireplace adorns most of thenorth wall.

He disappears for a few seconds and returns with two towels,pressing them into our hands. Mandy peels off her soaked jacket and then joinsme on the generously sized rug overlooking the ginormous fireplace. The warmthseeps into my skin, relaxing me.

“I’ll get you some drinks,” Mr. Hot Guy mumbles and takesMandy’s coat.

“Thanks. That’d be great,” Mandy calls after him in whatI’ve learned to recognize as her flirty voice—a mixture of low and sultryintermingled with just a hint of a smile.

I nudge her in the ribs and whisper, “Do you think that’s agood idea? We don’t even know him.”

“What?” She shrugs, faking that she has no idea what I’mtalking about.

As soon as he’s gone, she turns to me. “What the hell!” shemouths in case he’s eavesdropping. “Why didn’t you say he was hot?”

I shrug my shoulders. “He’s okayish.”

“Okayish?” Mandy asks, aghast. “He’s hot, hot, hot with acapital H!” She glances over her shoulder to the hallway then back to me.“Please don’t tell me you wouldn’t do him.”

The admonishment is palpable in her voice.

I grimace as heat creeps up my face. If only she knew howoften I’ve actually done him in my head, she’d be both appalled and proud ofme.

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