Page 109 of Boss of the Year

His jaw flexed. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, “If you’re sure.”

I was. And, at the same time, I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway. “Unless you think you won’t be able to resist me.”

That earned me a reluctant smile. Crooked. Dangerous.

“Oh, I’ll behave.” He picked up his bag and tossed it onto the far side of the bed. “You’re the one who brought up horny dogs.”

“And yet,” I sang as I tugged my suitcase toward the bureau, “I will be the one making the pillow wall.”

He laughed again, low and warm, and the tension eased a bit more. A knock on the door revealed Robbie carrying brown paper bags filled with pub food from around the corner.

“All they had left was steak and kidney pie, whatever that is.” He handed me a bag. “So it’s that and English beer. Enjoy.”

The door closed, and Luke and I looked at each other again while the scent of the British staple filled the room.

“Shall we?” he asked almost shyly, gesturing to a tiny table by the window.

I smiled. “Seems like the best we can do for now.”

An hourand three slices of steak and kidney pie later, the practicalities of the situation forced us into motion. We needed to change clothes and get ready for bed, and there was nowhere to hide in the small space.

“I’ll, um, use the bathroom first.” I grabbed my toiletry bag and tucked my sleepwear under my arm.

Lucas nodded absently from where he sat at the head of the bed, looking over a report for the next day.

In the safety of the marble bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. What was I doing? Sharing a bed with Lucas Lyons after what had happened between us in Japan was either the most foolish or the most dangerous thing I’d ever agreed to. And somehow, he was acting like it was just anotherFriday night with a roommate, or even like we were an old married couple.

But here I was, wearing the silk pajama set I’d bought in Paris. The shorts and a camisole in deep emerald that Louis had insisted made my eyes pop were modest by most standards but felt scandalous compared to my usual men’s T-shirts and sweatpants from the Goodwill. I could still go out and swap the set for the latter option, but something stopped me. Lucas wouldn’t care. I knew he wouldn’t care. And it wasn’t about pretending to be something I wasn’t either.

For some reason, I wanted to look—no,feel—my best around him now.

I wasn’t sure why. But I didn’t want to second-guess it either.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Lucas was sitting on the edge of the bed in just a pair of black boxer briefs, his chest bare and abdominals crunched as he checked something on his phone.

The sight made me stumble.

I’d seen him shirtless in the onsen, of course, but this was different. More intimate. The lamplight played across the muscles of his shoulders and chest, and I stared at the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his underwear. The bulge below it reminded me that I knewexactlywhat it looked like, and also what itfeltlike when it was larger. Longer. Harder. And rubbing against me.

As if he read my mind, Lucas looked up from his phone and, in one fluid movement, grabbed a pillow next to him and laid it across his lap. “Those cannot possibly be the only pajamas you own.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I stood a little straighter instead of hunching my shoulders. “You think it’s easy for me? Look at you. CEO by day, Michelangelo’s David by night. Who looks like that?”

The compliment seemed to surprise him. God, he was beautiful when he smiled.

“You think I look like a Renaissance sculpture?” He glanced down. “I’d like to think I’m a little better endowed, at least.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I teased, now grinning hard enough that my cheeks hurt.

I couldn’t seem to stop.

For a moment, we were stuck in an awkward prism of delight that neither of us had a right to enjoy the way we were.

Slowly, our smiles fell away, but we continued staring.

Lucas blinked. “Fuck it.”

He crossed the small space in two strides, then took my face between his hands and kissed me.