pull a towel from the rail, wrap the soft white material around me, and pout my way into the bedroom. Fuck. My eyes hit Clay. I fist the towel at my chest, holding it high, feeling my heart a frantic tattoo vibrating on the other side. I stare wide-eyed at him sitting on the edge of the mattress, intensity consuming his gaze. Dressed in a black suit and smooth black silk tie, he continues to stare at me as though his gaze was drilling holes through the door moments before I entered. “You didn’t finish,” he says, his tone strained and rough. I gasp. He can’t mean... Did he hear me? Blood pumps
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