Page 89 of A Little Broken

My annoyance flares, and I move closer. “Excuse me. I need to clean the window.”

“Clean away,” he encourages, his stupid eyes glued to the pages like I’m the least interesting thing in the world.

Aaaand there’s the yo-yo effect again.

Fine.

I lean closer, rising onto my tiptoes and squirting the glass with the cleaner before lifting my arm and wiping it away. When his breath hits my nipple, my lungs refuse to deflate, and I suck my lips between my teeth.

Focus, Tatum.

I continue cleaning, ignoring the heat of his breath against me and how close he is to my boobs until another gentle breeze hits my bare skin and my nipples peak.

Unable to help myself, I look down. Paxton’s sole focus is on my face. Not my chest. Not the unsteady rise and fall from my labored breathing. Nope. He’s looking at me. Analyzing me. Watching me to see if he affects me the same way I’ve clearly affected him.

“Is there…” I gulp. “Is there a problem, boss?”

“What size are you?”

“What?”

“Size,” he repeats. “Since apparently, I need to buy you a new uniform.”

A breath of amusement slips out of me, but I don’t back away. “What? You don’t like my solution?”

“I like it plenty, but on the off-chance my neighbors look in the window, or Roman decides to stop by, or the paparazzi decides to invest in a new lens, I’d like to keep this view to myself.”

His movements are slow and deliberate as he reaches up, brushing his finger against the tip of my nipple, and pulling another gasp from my lips. It doesn’t matter that he had his mouth on me the last time I was here. This is different. I can’t hide in the darkness. I can’t brush it aside or act like he doesn’t affect me the way I’m able to with every other guy I’ve been with. Actually, it’s not even a comparison because none of the others have pushed me the way Paxton does. It’s…annoying.

Stepping back, I put some much-needed distance between us. “This room’s clean. I’ll vacuum it at the end.”

I give him my back and make my way toward the hall, desperate to fucking breathe.

“I’m throwing a party next weekend,” he calls.

My heels dig into the ground, and I face him again. “What?”

“I said, I’m throwing a party next weekend.”

I shake my head, confused. “So?”

“I want you to come.”

The idea alone is laughable. I’m his maid. He’s my bossanda rockstar with more groupies than I’ve had orgasms, which is saying something. Okay, yeah, we’ve hooked up a few times, but it means nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.

“No thank you,” I reply.

“Tatum,”—his gaze flicks over me as he walks toward me, covering what little distance I’d gained from seconds before—“I like this game as much as you do, all right? Walking into my house and seeing you like this?” He bites his bottom lip. “Fuck. You’re like a wet dream, but…I want you to come.”

“You’ve already made me come.”

“You know what I mean, Birthday Girl.”

My stupid heart flutters in my chest, and I breathe in deep, tasting his breath. Cinnamon, maybe? My mouth lifts for the briefest of seconds.

“What?” He frowns.

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