Page 3 of Undercover Billionaire

God knew she couldn’t afford to lose her job. Not now. Not when she was just one more year from her goal.

‘I’llknow.’

He sighed as he handed over the cash. ‘You are a spoilsport, Kelsey Armitage.’

She nodded. ‘Atta boy.’

* * *

Four hours later, her shift over, Kelsey made her way to Ari George’s room on deck seven, his wallet in her hand. A couple of keystrokes of the register and she’d been able to access his name and room number from the card he’d given her to swipe. And other information. Like there being no Mrs George.

Or any other companion…

No wedding band either, she’d noticed. Or a telltale white line where one would be if he was that kind of scumbag.

Of course, none of those things meant he wasn’t in a relationship. But it was rare to see an attached man going solo on a cruise. Most men either travelled with their partners or they were a younger crowd travelling in groups looking to get drunk and laid.

She should just have handed the wallet to guest services – it was protocol, after all. But she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the man at her bar drinking whisky at eleven in the morning.

Or his brooding good looks.

The intensity of his obsidian stare, the thickness of his lashes, the squareness of his ruthlessly shaved jaw line, the perfect straightness of his nose, the hollows beneath the twin rails of his cheekbones, the firm line of his mouth.

The deep, lurking… sadness in his eyes.

She’d always been a sucker for sad eyes. Which was probably why she was here, at a passenger’s cabin, breaking all the rules, delivering the abandoned wallet personally.

He probably wasn’t eveninhis cabin. It was three thirty in the afternoon on a gorgeous day, the sun was shining and the Med was being its beguiling self. Surely no one in their right mindwouldbe indoors?

In which case, she’d find the room attendant, get the door opened and leave it on his bed. She’d swiped a cocktail umbrella from the bar to use as a calling card for such an eventuality and her lips curved at the thought of him finding the little yellow umbrella atop his wallet.

At the thought of him knowingshe’dleft it on his bed.

Kelsey stared at his door, hesitating. Maybe she should just give it to the attendant and let them deal with the situation. She looked over her shoulder – the hallway was empty.Screw it.She’d knock, and if he didn’t answer, she’d go to plan B.

With her pulse washing through her ears, Kelsey rapped on the door. A muffled ‘Just a moment’ caused a hitch in her breath as the reality of seeing him again gripped her chest.

It was utterly preposterous – he was just a man, for fuck’s sake. And apassengerat that!

Which did not prepare her – one iota – for the sight that greeted her as the door opened. Not for his wild bed hair or the dark shadow of his whiskers or the pillow mark on his face. Not for him to be dressed in nothing but a towel or the way he appeared to be trying to focus.

Was he… drunk?

Had he continued the whisky party in his cabin? He didn’t smell boozy but hell, it was so dark behind him he could be concealing a drug den for all she could tell.

‘Oh, hey.’ He frowned, his hand going to the knot of the towel sitting snug and low on narrow hips.

The action pulled her gaze downwards. Over the broad span of his shoulders and the smooth bronzed planes of pecs dusted in a light covering of hair, down the furrow bisecting his firm abs, and lower still to the happy trail heading south from his belly button.

‘Sorry,’ he said, his voice gravelly.

A hint of an accent she hadn’t picked up earlier roughed up his smooth English enunciation.

Italian? Greek?

‘I thought you were room service.’

Kelsey dragged her gaze upwards as he shoved a hand through his hair. The action bunched his triceps and revealed a dark thatch of hair under his arm that was masculine as fuck and caused a riot in her underwear.

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