Page 19 of Aim Assist

Damn.

Am I really that hard up after Paul Snickledick?

His nearness is intoxicating, even if it's just to keep the other passengers from pressing against me.

I risk a glance up at him, but he's staring straight ahead, seemingly unaffected by our proximity. Of course he is. To him, I'm a client. A job. Nothing more.

Professional. Sexy, but professional.

What a good guy.

He likely doesn't even look at women sideways. Pity. I'd invite him for a drink tonight if he'd shown any signs of wanting more.

Though, with my luck, he's fucking married or something.

The elevator stops and the doors open. Liam steps back, gesturing for me to exit first. I hurry out, relieved to get a little space before I hop onto him and yowl like a cat in heat.

You're here to work, not drool over some random stranger. Even if he is insanely hot. Chill, girl. Chill. Stop thinking with your vagene.

I take a deep breath and force myself to focus as Liam leads me down the hall. I'm here to work.

I'm here to work.

Not imagine his ass without those pants on. Nope.

I'm here to fucking work.

Lush carpet muffles our footsteps down the long hallway, and somehow the sound makes the heat flushing my body go crazy.

Like we're in some sort of romance, and he's the love interest who's going to pounce on me as soon as the door opens.

Fucking ridiculous. I'm acting like a lovesick teenager.

Room 1214. The key card clicks and the door swings open to reveal a suite fit for actual royalty.

My jaw drops as I step over the threshold.

Okay. If he were to pounce on me now, I'd be all in for a hot fuck against the door—but since he isn't doing that (regrettably), I'm too busy gawking like a peasant.

Cream and gold wallpaper shimmers subtly in the warm light of a crystal chandelier. The California king bed dominates the room, piled high with plump pillows and a duvet that begs to be dived into face first.

There are rose petals on my bed. What the actual fuck.

French doors lead to what looks like a private balcony with a breathtaking ocean view.

Lucky immediately makes herself at home, hopping onto an overstuffed armchair upholstered in some ridiculously expensive-looking fabric. Her floofy tail swishes as she watches us.

A knock at the door startles me out of my peasant gawking. Liam strides over to open it, and I'm relieved to see Adam with my brightly colored suitcases.

"Where would you like these, miss?" Adam asks, his eyes darting between me and Liam. There's a hint of curiosity there, like he's trying to figure out our relationship.

Join the club, buddy. My body has designs that my head knows have no place here.

"Oh, um, anywhere is fine. Thanks." I wave a hand vaguely, and Adam efficiently deposits my luggage near the dresser before disappearing with a polite nod, but not before Liam slides a few bills into his hand.

I want to protest, but those blue-green eyes meet mine, and I can't get the words out. It's like he's warning me not to protest.

There's no way he's a driver. It's settled.

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