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No answer.
I try again, and the same echo answers me.
I’m ready to ring one more time just as the door opens.
At first sight of him, I can’t breathe. My heart can’t start itself up again. My belly tightens and my clit begins to ache, then pound. The pictures I’ve seen of Cage Bryant don’t do him justice because, in real life, he’s even taller, more intimidating, and I can see a hell of a lot more of him now because he’s shirtless, dressed in board shorts with a towel slung around his shoulders. His hair is damp, carelessly ruffled, as if he’s just come out of a pool. His skin is smooth and tanned.
I can’t take my gaze off his torso—muscles. Bunched, beautiful, sleek muscles that I want to reach out and touch. His chest is hard, his abs ridged, and my lust is immediate, getting me wet already as I think of what those muscles will feel like against my naked skin tonight.
Just like that, this job doesn’t feel like a money-making necessity for me. This is something I want with every beating inch of my body, and a flush roars through me. I’m probably wearing it like a filmy red veil.
His blue gaze is cool as he looks me over. Can he tell how turned on I am already? Or is he only seeing the perfectly ordinary, average girl with light brown hair and big gray eyes that I always saw in the mirror growing up? Or…maybe…
My confidence grows. Maybe he’s seeing the college coed in the surprisingly flattering picture that was posted on the Highest Bidder site.
My pulse continues to kick through me as I eagerly wait for him to say something. One heartbeat…two heartbeats…
Then I realize that Cage Bryant isn’t looking at me with the same kind of desire a client should have for an escort. He has no idea what he’s staring at, and I get the feeling he doesn’t even know why I’m even on his doorstep with an overnight bag.
Okay. Strange.
I shove the envelope at him then realize what a gauche move it is. Too late now.
“I’m Karini Lively,” I say.
He doesn’t take what I’m offering, and my blush burns.
He only narrows his eyes and frowns, anchoring his hands at the ends of the towel around his neck. My gaze lingers on his wide, powerful shoulders, and slick heat creams me even more.
“Is this a joke?” he asks.
Whoa. “A joke? No. Of course not.”
As I keep holding the envelope out to him, my pulse tangles, flailing with anxiety because, my god, just look at him: drop-dead gorgeous with a body that’s carved out of granite. With every passing second, my blood pumps, priming me, and he hasn’t even made a move yet.
But what makes me even more nervous is that I’m pretty sure he genuinely has no idea who the hell I am or why I’m here.
“How did you get in?” he asks in a low, wary tone. “Did someone give you the passcode?”
What? “The Highest Bidder did.”
I sound like a mouse—like the girl who always felt so invisible growing up, the middle child who barely existed for anyone until she got the attention of the wrong someone.
As Cage finally takes the envelope I’m offering, he looks at me again. This time, he does it slowly, his gaze running down my body, making me hold my breath. I shift out of carnal discomfort. My clit is so tight that I have to bite the inside of my lip.
When his gaze lingers on my breasts, I feel my nipples pucker. I know he can see it through my thin dress, too, and something flickers in his eyes. For a second, I think it might be the same lust I’m feeling. It’s as if there’s a hot, tenuous, quaking connection that’s about to snap.
Then he looks away from me, and I stop biting my lip. I swallow once again, coating my dry mouth.
Without giving anything away with his expression, he efficiently opens the envelope. It’s as if he never looked at me at all, and I begin to think I imagined it.
Embarrassment creeps up on me like a deeper, more pervasive kind of blush, and I hope he doesn’t see it.
He pulls out the thick, fancy parchment from the envelope and reads its contents. Then he shakes his head, his frown only intensifying.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
“There’s been a big mistake, Miss Lively.”