Page 91 of The One
I tug at the shorts, trying to get them to cover more of my legs, but they ride back up instantly. Ninety percent of my legs are on display.
Argh!
And there’s too much cleavage in this tank top. There’s no way I’m walking through the house like this.
Hmm, should I put on a bathrobe? No, that would look silly.
I scan the closet, searching for something, anything, to cover up, and finally grab a dress from its hanger, pulling it on.
Yeah, much better.
I skip down the stairs, equal measures excited and nervous.
Not knowing what Mateo has planned is keeping me on edge, but the thrill of seeing him again so soon after last night and spending more time with him is fighting hard for first place in this race of my emotions.
When I reach the front door, Mateo isn’t here yet. I sit down in one of the chairs in the sitting area, trying to calm my nerves, but it lasts all of a few seconds. I can’t sit still.
Jumping back on my feet, I pace by the door, unable to contain the energy buzzing through me.
I’ve had a crush on this man for as long as I can remember, and he’s come to mean even more to me in only a few short days. I’ve seen another side to the man most fear because of who he is, a gentler, softer side.
Smiling, I bite down on my lip, moving my teeth back and forth.
Crap, I better stop doing that or it will be swollen. Reluctantly, I release it and shake out my hands instead.
I’m mid-pace when Mateo comes down the corridor, his eyes lighting up as they land on me.
I think Rom is with him, along with a few other men, but I can’t be sure. They blur into the background, just shadows beside him.
I only have eyes for Mateo.
My eyes roam over his body. He’s never been dressed so casually.
My cheeks heat.
No!
Not now, not with so many people around. The last thing I want is for these men to see me looking like a ripe red apple.
But of course, my blush only deepens.
Especially when my attention is drawn to the soft gray T-shirt molded to Mateo’s shoulders and chest. It’s not too tight, but just enough to hint at the sculpted eight-pack underneath.
The fabric also highlights his powerful upper arms, arms that held me so close last night, making me feel safe, cherished, like I was exactly where I belonged.
And don’t get me started on his low-sitting sweatpants that fit snugly around his muscular thighs.
I’m sure my mouth hangs open. Truly, the man is perfection.
He must work out daily. He’s hiding a lot of sharp lines and defined muscles underneath his tailored suits.
I can’t look away.
Does he have this effect on all women? Or just me?
My wayward heart thrums harder as he approaches. It’s almost becoming painful.
Can a ribcage bruise from the inside, from a heart drumming too hard? I think it’s entirely possible.
