Page 17 of Owen North

“Like what?” I ask before taking a good look at Owen and seeing what she’s referring to.

Owen’s hair is a hot mess.

Well, it would be if it wasn’t just hot. I think this man could brush his hair flat and part it down the middle and still look good.

I catch sight of my hair in the mirror. Itisa hot mess.

Poppy doesn’t reply to my question. She just lifts her brows in answer.

“I’ve been trying to have sex with Owen in here but he’s far too much of a gentleman for that.”

More lifting of her brows. “Honestly, Charles, you go away a good girl and you return a hussy. Normally, I would commend you on this, but please refrain from this behavior at my wedding. I do not need our mothers to get wind of this.”

We reach her floor, and with one last shake of her head, she gathers her dress and steps out of the elevator.

We continue up to Owen’s floor and I do my best not to throw myself at him again. Instead, I say, “It’s your turn.”

I can tell he’s struggling not to put his hands all over me in the same way I am. Whereas I succeed, he fails.

He pulls me close and drops his mouth to my neck. Kissing me there, he murmurs, “You’re the very best kind of trouble, aren’t you?”

There’s something about him saying that to me that gets me in the feels. I know what it is: it’s the fact that my ex-fiancé and almost every guy I dated before him thought I was too much. Benjamin told me I was more than a handful. That was right before he told me he loved me, but that we would be having a sit down to discuss how I needed to act a little differently for our marriage to succeed.

“I know many men who would disagree with you.”

“Amateurs.” His lips graze my throat, and he continues his exploration of my skin.

When we reach his floor this time, he takes hold of my hand and leads me out of the elevator and down the corridor to his room.

He ushers me into his suite, a luxurious and expansive space with views out over Central Park. I pad across the plush carpet into the living room and drop my purse on a sofa.

Eyeing the eight-seater oval dining table in another area off the living room, I look at Owen who has placed the bottle of wine down and is removing his bow tie. “Are you planning a dinner party while you’re here?” I’m suddenly feeling nervous now that we’re alone in his suite, and random things always fall out of my mouth when I’m nervous. God knows what I’ll say next.

His eyes hold a mixture of heat and a smile when he moves into me and snakes his arm around my waist. Dropping his mouth to my neck, he kisses me before saying, “I always make it a point to be prepared for anything.” He kisses his way up to my mouth, his eyes finding mine. “It turns out I’m hosting a dinner party for two.”

Before I know what’s happening, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the table. Placing me on it, he moves between my legs and slides one of the thin straps of my dress off my shoulder. Bending to kiss my skin there, he says, “I can’t recall the last time I was this hungry.”

I grip his hips.

I’m now feeling out of my depth right alongside feeling nervous.

Owen has been flirty and sexy since the minute I met him.

Now, he’s something else entirely.

Now, he’s all masculine energy, power, and command.

Those blue eyes of his are filled with determination.

His strong hands feel like confidence and expertise.

And his voice? It’s turned to the kind of gravel I find hard to resist.

“Charlize.” He traces a finger along my jaw as he watches me closely. “Where did you just go?”

I try to swallow my nerves. I didn’t intend on getting this close to Owen tonight when I opened up to him and shared the personal things I did, but here we are, very close. And since I feel safe with him after the things we’ve talked about so far, I continue in that vulnerable vein. “I was just thinking how you changed from fun, flirty Owen to this whole new Owen.”

“Is this new Owen a version you like?”

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