Page 12 of No Strings Attached
Stripping down, I step into the glass enclosure and let the steaming water pour over me. For a moment, the heat soothesmy tense shoulders, and I sigh in relief. But then, my mind takes over, replaying the moment outside my door.
Henson, leaning closer than any stranger should, his breath warm against my skin. “You smell fine to me... It’s nostalgic,” he’d murmured, his deep voice sending vibrations down my spine. My body had betrayed me then, too, shivering under the gentle graze of his stubble along my neck, and now, the memory of it brings a fresh wave of goosebumps despite the heat of the water.
“Damn it.” I close my eyes and press my palms flat against the tile wall, willing myself to focus on anythingbuthim.
It doesn’t work. His voice echoes in my head, low and teasing. “Why are you running away from me, Mira?”
I bite my lip, an uninvited image of Henson chasing me down sending a sinful thrill through me. I can almost see it—me darting through the penthouse, his long strides closing the distance effortlessly. His hands grabbing me, pinning me down...taking me.My breathing quickens, and I press my thighs together, but it only makes the ache worse.
My hand moves on its own, sliding lower until my fingers find that sensitive spot begging for attention. Water cascades over me, muffling the soft, desperate sounds escaping my lips. I try to be quiet, biting down hard on my bottom lip, terrified he might hear me from the other side of the door. The thought of it only fuels the fire, though, and my hips arch into my hand, fingers circling over my swollen clit, as the fantasy overwhelms me. Henson, holding me down, his voice growling in my ear…
My orgasm hits me hard, and I clutch the wall, my legs trembling as pleasure courses through me. For a moment, I stay there, panting under the spray of water, letting the high ebb away. Then reality sets in, and guilt creeps up my spine.
What the hell is wrong with you, Amira?
I finish quickly, scrubbing away the evidence of my weakness, and step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel. Ipull on a loose pair of lounge pants and a tank top from my suitcase. My wet curls are a lost cause, so I tie them into a messy bun, hoping it looks intentional.
When I finally open the bedroom door, the scent of something delicious wafts through the air, and my stomach growls loud enough to betray me.
“Hungry, Mira?” Henson’s deep laugh floats toward me, and I find him standing in the open-concept kitchen, his shirt sleeves rolled up as he plates food.
I cross my arms, trying to seem unaffected. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
He shrugs, flashing a crooked smile that makes my stomach flip. “I only ordered food, I didn’t make it. Sit.” He gestures to the dining table, where an array of dishes I can’t even name await.
Reluctantly, I take a seat, my mouth watering. “This looks amazing.”
“Can’t have you wasting away on my watch,” he says, taking the seat across from me.
I roll my eyes but dig in, savoring the rich flavors. For a moment, the food is distracting enough, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I glance up at him.
Henson’s eating quietly, almost serenely, like the chaos of the day hasn’t touched him at all.
It makes me relax, just a little. And before I can stop myself, I realize Iwantto know more about him.
“Earlier, when you mentioned being uneasy in crowds… is that something that started recently?”
His gaze meets mine before he leans back in his chair, expression shifting. “Kind of. I wasn’t always like that. Growing up, my family was together all the time. Big dinners, parties—my mom was a party planner, so there was constantly something going on. Crowds never bothered me back then. They were just normal.”
I nod, urging him to continue.
“Then my career took off and, suddenly, people knew my name. My face was in the tabloids. Every move I made was dissected. Privacy? Gone.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, avoiding my gaze.
I study him for a moment. “I know you’re a Miller.”
He glances at me, surprised, and I add, “I saw your name on the screen at reception. I just figured you didn’t need another person gawking or asking for a selfie.”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “I appreciate that.”
“So what happened after?”
“The first time I had a panic attack was at a launch party. Too many people, too many eyes. Everyone wanted something from me, and I just... froze. My chest got tight, my vision blurred, and I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was dying.” He gives a half-hearted chuckle.
My heart clenches at the vulnerability in his voice. “That sounds terrible.”
“It was.” He meets my gaze. “Since then, it’s like the floodgates opened. Crowds, cameras—even certain noises can set me off. It’s hard to manage sometimes.”
“That’s a lot for anyone to deal with.”
