The Executive Touch: An Alpha Male Office Romance by Rebecca Kinkade

Author:Rebecca Kinkade [Kinkade, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-20T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 12: Sophie

We return to our room at the end of the night, tipsy and exhausted. The only thing that I want to do is get out of my heels and collapse into the bed—the queen size bed that Rowan and I are supposed to share. Shit.

We both find ourselves standing at the foot and staring at it—me pulling off my shoes and Rowan slowly undoing his bowtie. The bed suddenly looks ridiculously small.

Finally, I let out a sigh and speak first. “Look, I’m not going to do that stupid song and dance where we pretend you’re going to sleep on the floor. We can share the bed.”

Rowan is removing his tuxedo jacket as I’m speaking. He lets out a light scoff and sends a look in my direction. “We both know that there was no way in hell I was going to sleep on the floor with you a few feet away from me in that bed.”

“Did we?”

“We did.” He bends down and picks up my heels as he heads over to the closet. “Take the bathroom first.”

A few minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom wearing an oversize t-shirt and a pair of long black leggings. I brought these to sleep in knowing that Rowan and I would be sharing a room. They’re armor. A sure-fire way to guarantee that Rowan won’t be tempted to make a pass at me.

Except, Rowan isn’t the one that we need to worry about.

I stop in my tracks as soon as I see that Rowan is sitting on top of the covers wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxer briefs. He looks like a fucking god. My eyes eat up the sight of him, gorging on his tan skin and the layers of muscles that decorate every inch of him. He’s reading on his phone and doesn’t notice me ogling him. Or maybe he does. Either way, he allows me a few seconds to soak him in uninterrupted. Even my heart forgets to beat.

Once I’m on the verge of registering my business as a religious entity committed to the devotion of Rowan, he glances up and sees me loitering in the doorway.

“Done hogging the bathroom?” He rises from the bed. Then he stands in front of me, so much glorious skin showing that I am on the cusp of breaking into a delirious giggle. Rowan must spend thousands of dollars a month to dress as well as he does. If you ask me, that’s an insult to whatever deity painstakingly created him.

“All yours,” I manage to say after a beat, gesturing over the wrong shoulder so that I end up pointing at an antique writing desk instead of the bathroom.

My hesitation must amuse him because his mouth unfolds into a light grin as he walks past me to use the bathroom. Seconds later, on the other side of the door, I can hear him brushing his teeth. I take the opportunity to crawl under the covers and to pull the sheets up around my chest, practically to my chin.

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