Page 234 of Hot Tycoons Boxset

He doesn’t mention about him walking in on me, and I refuse to bring it up.

“You could go home,” I offer as we dig into the food, me more slowly than him.

“I’m not going anywhere till you’re well enough to form at least one proper insult,” he

retorts.

I eye his clothes. “That shirt has seen better days.”

He grins then, a helplessly charming smile that has my lips quirking, and he extends

his leg for me to inspect the pants. “So have these.”

I release a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. “If you’re not going to leave, you

can borrow Ron’s clothes.”

He doesn’t look up from where he is devouring his food. “Fergus sent me a change of clothes. He was worried you’d have to air the apartment out after I leave.”

I glance where he points at where a pink shirt and jeans hung over the back of a chair.

“It’s, uh, pink,” I say, lamely, unable to imagine him in it.

He looks up at me. “You powers of deduction are truly frightening.”

I can’t help but snigger at that, despite the flash of indignation. “I mean I have never seen you wear any color aside from black, blue, gray, and white.”

He shrugs, swallowing some of the pasta, and then says, “Black and white makes me look threatening.”

I blink. “You’d look just as much of a badass in pink, or red, or blue. You know, colors

that normal people wear.”

He grins at me, looking ridiculously pleased with my words. “Tell you what. You buy me a ‘normal’ shirt and I’ll wear it.”

I blush at the implications and then force my head down when he adds, “Eat your food. You need energy.”

It is a few hours later when I curl up on the couch with a headache, remnants of my fever. Zayn plops down at the other end of the couch and drags my feet in his lap. His legs are stretched out and are propped on the coffee table, his laptop just beyond my feet as he works.

Such intimacy.

And yet, I can’t find it in myself to tell him to back off.

When was the last time I was ever intimate like this with a man?

The answer is never.

Not even as a young woman. I enjoyed the company of men, but I never bothered to share such soft moments with them. I was so focused on my studies and on my side job. Then, there was Zayn, and I was blown away and fascinated by him.

I had too much fun playing our strange little games.

And back then, he was quieter, somehow more dangerous, darker.

And while the man who is currently using my ankles as an elbow rest still exudes danger, he is a far cry from the one who dislocated a customer’s shoulder for simply grabbing my hand.

“You have pointy elbows,” I mutter, my eyes closed. “Do something about them.”

“I’m sorry I can’t grow new elbows to appease you,” Zayn says, his tone distracted as he types something.

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