Page 28 of Dust Storm

Christian’s stomach brushed mine as he stared down at me intently. A small groove formed between his eyebrows. A low growl of frustration reverberated in his chest.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

His gruff timbre sent shivers racing down my spine. The breath snaking off his beard was intoxicating.

Christian Griffith wasnotmy type. Besides, I was taken.

Kind of.

But my body didn’t give a damn about logic. My skin prickled like I had touched a live wire.

He looked safe. His arms looked comforting. And after the day I’d had, it took every ounce of my professionalism not to lean into them for support.

I lifted my chin. “I’m here to do a job.

“Yeah,” he said with one last heated look as he stepped out of the doorway and headed for the kitchen. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I woketo the sound of children. It was awful.

Their shrill morning shrieks of “I can’t find my other shoe!” and “I don’t want pancakes for breakfast!” immediately gave me a headache.

Need caffeine.

I rolled over and buried my head under the pillow to try and block out the cacophony of prepubescent chatter.

It wasn’t even light outside yet.

The pillow and bedding were clean, but smelled a little musty—like they had been sitting in a closet for an unusually long time.

I stretched, flexing and curling my toes beneath the heavy quilt.

Christian had only been in here for a few minutes while he made the bed last night, but his cologne lingered in the most delicious way.

Was it actually cologne, or was it just him?

I breathed in the masculine scent, letting it wrap around me like a hug, and drifted back to sleep.

“Rise and shine.” Christian’s deep bass floated in as the door creaked open.

Politely, fuck him.

No. On second thought, not politely.

Fuck him.

I lifted the corner of the pillow and glared at the clock. “I’m available between the hours of nine and five. Outside that, you’llneed to send me an email that will be answered during the following business day.”

Christian’s chuckle was dark. “Not how it works around here, Princess.”

The slide of ceramic on wood caught my attention. I cautiously peered through sleep-laden eyes and spotted the mug of coffee he had left on the nightstand.

“Nice pajamas,” he clipped as he turned away from the door.

A breeze danced over my bare shoulder where the strap of my satin camisole kissed my skin.

But the breeze didn’t stop there.

Crap.

---