Page 39 of The Woman at the Funeral

So I dragged myself into my room, changed into my workout gear, strapped on my sneakers, grabbed my phone, and headed out.

But I paused outside of the elevator, having trouble putting one foot in front of the other.

Nico’s words came back to me then.

About if I ever needed a running buddy.

I didn’t want to have to rely on someone else to feel safe in my own city. But if it helped me get out there just this one time, maybe it would be worth the uncertainty I felt when I wound up at Nico’s door.

I hesitated, knowing it was a bit early for most people, but then lifted my hand and knocked softly.

“Coming,” a voice called from within.

It totally didn’t make a shiver move down my spine.

There was the slide of the locks then the door opened.

And there was Nico.

In nothing but a low-slung pair of light gray sleep pants.

I forgot my own name.

I’d certainly assumed that Nico was fit beneath his nice suits. But assumption and reality were two completely different things.

There was no way to keep my gaze from sliding down from his handsome face, taking in his wide shoulders, his strong chest, the indents of his abdominal muscles that just begged to have a finger traced down them. My own hand itched to do just that. I had to curl them into fists to make sure I didn’t.

I knew I needed to stop tracking down.

But there was no way to deny myself.

My chest started to feel tight as I spotted those deep V lines that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

I felt a twinge, then a tightening as my gaze took in the outline of his cock against the material of his pants. The light gray color and thin fabric were leaving very little to the imagination.

And I’d clearly woken him.

Because he was still half-hard.

I wasn’t sure if the little whimper I felt was one that stayed contained or escaped me. Because all I could think about was him grabbing me, pulling me in, yanking down my pants, and slamming deep inside me.

“Blair?” Nico’s voice was coaxing, but deep, thick with sleep and his evident partial desire.

My guilty gaze snapped up.

Despite my dry mouth, I managed to stammer a sentence out. “Sorry! I woke you. Go back to bed.”

I turned to walk away, desire pinging off every nerve ending.

But Nico’s hand shot out, grabbing my forearm.

This time, I was relatively sure the little needy sound did make its way out of me.

“I was awake. Just hadn’t crawled out of bed yet,” he said, pulling me just a little closer.

I knew when I lifted my head that my desire had to be clear on my face. But I couldn’t keep staring at my feet. Or, heaven forbid, look at his body any longer than I already had.

When I didn’t say anything, Nico’s head tipped to the side a little.

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