Page 4 of High-Rise Heat

“And, it’s Isaac, by the way.”

I look back at him. “What? Sorry?”

An amused kindness crinkles his eyes and he points to himself. “Me. Dom’s-Friend. Isaac.” He says it in a gruff cave-man voice, making a joke, and I’m certain my cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.

“Right, of course.” I look to the kitchen again. “No caffeine,” I say, making excuses. “I swear I’m not normally this rude. It’s nice to meet you.” I nod and reach down to remove his hands, knowing they’re clouding my judgment, but when our fingers connect a jolt of something rude and excited shoots through me.

Our eyes catch and his hands twitch, his gaze darkening for a second, only long enough for me to catch it, before he pulls his hands back.

“Oh man!” He tosses his hands in the air like a criminal. “I’m such an asshole!” A blush colors his cheekbones just above his stubble, as if he reallydidforget his hands were on me. “Man, I’ve known you for two seconds and I’m the creepiest guy ever!” His eyes are wide and serious. “I officially give you permission to slap me. Damn, I am so sorry!”

I can’t help but smile.

“It’s not funny,” he says, running both his hands through his dark hair, clasping them behind his head. Only that shows off just how muscular his arms are. “That’s some class-A stalker-shit. I’m just—fuck! I’m going to go into the kitchen.” He drops his hands. “Please, forget all this ever happened, and … if you sue me later, I completely get it.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, really it isn’t,” he shakes his head furiously. “Dom is gonna nut-punch me.”

I laugh at that. “No he isn’t. Dom’s the sweetest guy in the world. He wouldn’t punch anyone.”

“That’s what you think.” Isaac shakes his head at me, dead serious, making me wonder if Dom might have done something if he walked down the hall and found Isaac’s hands on my waist. “You’re his protégé!” Isaac continues. “If there’s one person I shouldn’t be making passes at, it’s you.”

A prickle runs up my neck. “I’m sorry, was that a pass?”

“Evenunintentionalpasses! Not that you aren’t—” He shuts his mouth quickly, but his eyes say everything for him, once again flicking down my body and riddling my skin with goosebumps. “It was lovely to meet you, Ilsa,” he says. “Let’s make a pack to avoid bumping into each other in the morning half-naked.”

I shake my head to lighten the tension. “It’s fine. And don’t be so hard on yourself. Nobody’s half-naked.”

His eyes bore into me and I realize he’s deliberately making a show of looking at my face.

I look down quickly, only to see my robe has fallen open. It’s still cinched at the waist, but in our stumble the top must’ve pulled apart to expose a generous view of skin. He can see all the way to my navel, with the fabric barely catching my nipples to keep my breasts from being entirely bared to him—Thank God!—though he’s had plenty of time to ogle the half-exposed goods.

“Jesus!” I grab the edges of the robe and thrust them together. “I had no idea!”

“I wasn’t looking, I swear,” Isaac says, despite the fact that I know that’s untrue. He closes his eyes to prove his point, even though I’ve already covered up. “I’m going to find my way back to the kitchen now,” he says, reaching a hand out to find the wall. “I look forward to seeinglessof you in the future, Ilsa.”

“Putz,” I quip, shaking my head at him, which he can’t see, but the mischievous grin that spreads across his face lets me know just how much he enjoyed his private viewing.

“It’ll be our little secret,” he says, before turning around and using the wall to walk himself back toward the kitchen.

A flutter stirs in my stomach as I watch him go, realizing it’s been ages since anyone’s flirted with me, much less ogled my tits. And what did I expect? I’ve been nothing but business, business, business, daydreaming about Dom and wishing something was there when maybe there isn’t.

I don’t like the idea that flits through my mind next. Is it possible I’m so hung up on Dom because he’s been the only one around? Is it possible I’ve convinced myself he’s the only option?

3

Ilsa

Dom and Isaac are both in the kitchen when I come in showered, clean, and one-hundred-percent clothed. Isaac’s gaze skims over me in my pencil skirt and low-cut blouse, which I wear deliberately to make the men in our business meetings think I’m docile and feminine. They never see the wolf in the sheep’s clothing. But this morning, I’m not sure if I put it on for that same reason, especially when Isaac looks away quickly and I know he’s deliberately keeping his eyes from roving over the goods he saw earlier.

I turn my focus to Dominick, who’s at the stovetop cooking eggs, and I’m surprised to see him with an apron over his dress shirt and slacks. His suit-coat hangs over a stool and even though his red hair isn’t combed yet, he still looks like he walked out of the pages of GQ. He’s brilliant and put together even as he cooks eggs.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says pleasantly and this whole sight triggers an unsettling feeling in my stomach. His comment is completely normal. So usual and expected—except I’ve never seen Dom cook eggs before, much less do anything so domestic. I always think of him at the office, making deals, or presenting at a conference. Even late at night after our meetings, when we’re eating crappy take out, he’s always had a polished professionalism about him. The idea of him cooking breakfast for me is … different. It’s overly familiar and almost intimate.

I drop my laptop case on the granite kitchen island and turn to face Dom, suddenly irritated that Isaac is here. I want to sit at this island and stare out at Hong Kong as I savor the fact that Dom ismaking me breakfast! This isour lastweekend, where we were supposed to do exactly this—alone!

“I met your friend in the hallway this morning,” I pronounce, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice. “I didn’t realize we were going to have company.”

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