Page 96 of Just The Way You Aren't

"Turn around," he murmurs against my lips.

I comply, and he begins shampooing my hair with skilled fingers that massage my scalp until I'm practically purring. It's shockingly intimate, this mundane act turned sensual by his touch. When he moves on to soaping my body, paying specialattention to my breasts and between my thighs, any hope of making it out of the shower quickly evaporates.

I return the favor, relishing the opportunity to explore his body with soapy hands, to feel his smooth muscles tense beneath my touch. By the time we finally emerge from the shower, we're both clean, slightly breathless, and definitely behind schedule.

"I don't have anything that will fit you properly," Damien says, rummaging through his massive walk-in closet. "But these should work for now."

He hands me a pair of dark gray luxury brand sweatpants with a drawstring waist and a white dress shirt with monogrammed cuffs. The pants are comically large, but manageable once I roll the waistband and cinch the drawstring tight. The shirt drowns me, but it smells like him, so I'm not complaining.

"My housekeeper, Eliza, can provide a garment bag for your dress," he says, nodding toward the bedroom doorway. "She'll take care of packing it for you."

"Thank you." I glance down at my feet. "I suppose I'll need to wear my Louboutins home."

He grins. "You won’t hear me complaining."

"Maybe not, but my neighbors might wonder," I reply with a smile.

Breakfast is a surreal experience. The dining room could comfortably seat twenty, with a chandelier overhead that probably costs more than a year's rent on my apartment. A middle-aged woman in a crisp uniform—his housekeeper, I assume—serves us fresh fruit, pastries, and coffee in delicate china cups.

"Is this how you eat every morning?" I ask, taking a sip of coffee that's better than anything I've ever made.

"Actually, I usually grab something at the office." Damien looks oddly out of place in his own formal dining room, dressed casually in dark jeans and a light-knit sweater. "I asked Eliza to prepare the full service just for you."

"Well, it's lovely." I smile at the housekeeper when she returns with more coffee. "Thank you, Eliza."

She seems surprised at being addressed directly, but returns the smile with a small nod before disappearing back to the kitchen.

My phone buzzes on the table beside me, pulling me away reluctantly from my breakfast with Damien. I check the display: Silver Hearts. Real life doesn’t wait simply because I’m enjoying a pleasant morning with the man I adore.

"I should take this," I tell Damien apologetically.

He gestures for me to go ahead, his attention already on his own phone.

"Willow Harper," I answer, slipping into professional mode.

"Willow, it's Jane." My office coworker’s voice bubbles with excitement. "Have you seen the donations coming in this morning? We're up another hundred thousand since the event ended last night!"

"What?" I nearly drop my delicate coffee cup. "That's incredible!"

"Word is spreading about the event.The Timesran a small piece, and apparently several guests have been talking us up on social media." She pauses. "Also, I heard Damien was quite... supportive last night."

The innuendo in her tone makes me blush. Jane knows Damien well enough by now to tease me about him. "He's been incredible throughout this entire process," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

There’s a giggle in her tone. "I'll bet he has."

Before I can respond to that, my phone beeps with another incoming call. "Jane, I've got to take this. We'll talk later?"

I switch calls without waiting for her answer. "Willow Harper."

"Willow, thank god!" It's Miguel, one of our volunteer coordinators. "Mrs. Reynolds fell this morning trying to get her mail. The ambulance just took her to Mount Sinai. Her daughter's out of town, and she's asking for you."

My heart sinks. Mrs. Reynolds is one of our oldest clients, stubborn and independent to a fault. "I'll head there as soon as I can. Did they say how bad it is?"

"Possible broken hip. You know what that means at her age."

Crap. I do. It could be the beginning of the end of her independence. "Tell her I'm coming. And Miguel, can you phone Jane at my office and tell her what’s going on, please?"

"Sure, no problem."

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