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Pressing my ear against the door, I hold my breath and think I can hear his hard breathing.

God, those low, deep moans are sexy.

I move back down the hall, focused on getting away as fast as possible, and open another door by accident.

It’s a bedroom with clothes scattered across the bed.

Men’s clothes.

Men’s shoes litter the floor.

The scent of aftershave lingers in the air.

“Changed your mind after all?” The voice behind me is deep and husky. For a moment, I’m immobilized as he continues, “I think bedrooms are a bit overrated, but what the hell? If that’s your thing, I’m up for it.”

It’s the same guy from the bathroom. He must have followed me.

I turn to face him, my gaze strangely drawn south, and find that a thin towel is wrapped around his hips, covering his junk.

I let out an exasperated snort.

It’s really tiny. The towel, that is.

Not his tool.

That one’s about the biggest I’ve ever seen, counting TV and Internet pop-ups.

I don’t want to gawk, and yet I find my gaze glued to the clearly defined bulge underneath that towel.

In the bright light spilling in through the large bay windows, I can see everything. There’s no denying he still has a raging erection, as though pleasuring himself wasn’t nearly enough to still his sexual appetite.

“Seriously?” I ask, pointing to the towel. “Can’t you put something on?” My voice sounds strangled, breathy, which I attribute to the fact that I’m highly uncomfortable standing in front of a hot guy built like a Greek god and hung like a donkey.

“What’s so important that you had to interrupt me back in there?” He points toward the bathroom door.

“I interrupted?” My jaw drops, and white hot flashes of anger begin to cloud my vision. “Oh, you’re talking about your date with your right hand. Sorry about that.” I smirk. “What are you doing here?”

His brows shoot up. “Here?”

“Yes, here in my apartment.”

Ignoring my question, he squeezes past me, his erection coming dangerously close to my abdomen. From up close, he smells of sandalwood and raw manliness.

My breath catches in my throat.

It takes all my willpower not to jump a few steps back to put some distance between us.

He retrieves another white towel from his suitcase and wipes his face with it.

Every fiber of my body is heating up at the sight of his naked back. Bruce is tall and a bit skinny. This guy is built like a boxer: tall with broad shoulders and hard muscles in places I didn’t know existed.

As he turns to regard me, I notice the color of his eyes.

Deep brown and broody with long, dark lashes.

They’re the sort of eyes that make you feel like you’re the only woman in his world.

It’s a pity I didn’t get the chance to watch him finish the act earlier.