Page 12 of Fifth Avenue Fling

He glares down at where I’ve grasped his forearm and detaches himself with a grunt.

My breath catches in my throat, and I look away, flustered.

I…

He’s…

Just fuck.

Glass smashing snaps me out of my daze.

I hop back in surprise, away from the little shards of glass littered around me. My bag has slipped off my shoulder, spilling the contents across the floor, one of which was the fancy cocktail glass I had taken from the bar as a ‘souvenir’. Now, it lies broken in a thousand pieces.

Ah, karma.

“Fuck,” I hiss, staring in horror as the little soaps roll around the guy’s feet in different directions before settling. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were my friend.”

My cheeks feel like I’ve been sunbathing in Death Valley. I can’t look at the man.

I asked him whether he thought I’d look sexy AF in underwear.

I need to get the soaps back in my bag before anyone notices I’ve depleted half the supplies in the hotel bathroom.

I squat down to grab them from among the broken glass, trying to decide how I will deal with the glass. My hands aren’t communicating with my brain. I’m doing a juggling act with soaps and manage to shove some of them into my bag.

“Step away. You’ll hurt yourself,” the shadow above me says gruffly. It’s a low, gravelly American baritone that sends unexpected shivers through me. It must take an enormous pair of balls to pump out that much testosterone.

Looking up, I see icy eyes flaring down at me with annoyance, and my stomach drops so low, I’m afraid it will fall out of my ass for the second time today.

He’s quite a bit older than me. Strong masculine features. Thick, wavy, dark-brown hair. The icy blues, angular jaw, and prominent nose make him look ruthless. A vest and shirt combo that my vagina approves of.

Holy fucking potatoes.The guy is gorgeous.

His gaze sweeps over the disaster on the floor, and his eyebrows draw together.He couldn’t look less impressed if I stormed in wearing a mask and robbed the reception desk.

Even through the glare, I can’t stop gawking.

He looks down at me for a moment longer before nodding to someone behind me. I crane my neck to see a burly security guard walking toward us, speaking into an earpiece.

“It’s only soap,” I huff as our eyes lock again. Somehow, his stare manages to be hot and cold at the same time.

My gaze drops. I’m eye level with his cock. I bet it’s as large and threatening as the rest of him.

“Get off your damn knees, girl,” the guy growls.

Girl?

“Ma’am, do you need assistance?” another voice says from behind me. The security guard. His expression tells me thatassistanceis an escort out of the hotel.

Two cleaners scuttle over.

“I’m so sorry,” I rasp to the cleaner bending down to sweep up the shattered glass.

Mortified, I steal a fleeting glance at the arrogant, god-like man. He’s already striding off with a stunningly beautiful brunette dressed like the First Lady on his arm.

She’s almost tall enough to look him in the eye, and he must be six-three or six-four. She makes gliding in stilettos and a tight dress look effortless.She’snot penguin-waddling.

A perfect match for him.

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