Page 88 of Owen North

We somehow makeit through the day without me tearing Charlize’s clothes off. Today’s outfit that I had to deal with was a black and white polka dot blouse and black skirt. My eyes were almost glued to the thin belt she wore. I learned that not only do I have a thing for bows on Charlize, I have a thing for belts too.

On top of distracting me with her beauty, Charlize gained all my attention with the way she had potential investors eating out of her hand.

I ran late most of the day thanks to an issue that came up in New York that I had to fix. That left Charlize to start my meetings for me. After seeing her in action yesterday, I believed her capable of this, but I couldn’t have imagined just how well she’d do it. Her intelligence and quick thinking, along with her people skills, helped me sign the two men I didn’t want to leave London without signing.

Something shifted between us last night. I’m not sure what it was, but I’ve felt it all day.

Charlize’s eyes have lingered on me for longer.

Her hand has brushed mine repeatedly.

She hasn’t managed me every time I flirted with her.

And now, she’s moving around our hotel suite, getting ready for dinner in a way that wouldn’t convince one person that we aren’t involved.

First, she showered and emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel.

Then, she proceeded to stand in the living room, wearing that towel, while resting a foot up on the arm of the sofa, applying cream to her legs.

After that, she told me she’d dry her hair in the living room while I showered. I was still finishing up some work on the sofa and sat through a good five minutes of her flipping her hair before finally closing my laptop and escaping to the shower.

The bathroom looks like a bomb hit it.

Charlize’s polka dot blouse and skirt from today are strewn across the floor.

Her hair and beauty products are strewn across the vanity.

Her essence is strewn across the entire room.

My gut tightens at the sight of it all.

I want this with her.

All of this.

Mornings waking up with her, days spent thinking about her, nights together, long conversations, deep conversations, laughter, flirting.

I want her driving me wild in her unawareness of how she affects me simply with a foot up on the sofa.

I want her driving me crazy with her mess of beauty products and clothes everywhere.

I want her to thread her fingers through mine at the end of a day and tell me she likes me exactly how I am. That she never wants me to change.

I close the bathroom door and take a shower.

I only just stop myself from jerking off.

After, I dry off, wrap the towel around my waist, and walk into the bedroom in search of something to wear to dinner.

I’m zipping my trousers when Charlize comes into the bedroom.

“Shit,” she says from the doorway. “Sorry, I should have knocked.”

I’m standing in front of the wardrobe that’s near the door. When I look up at her, I find her eyes all over my body.

“We’re not going to make it to dinner if you keep looking at me like that,” I growl.

Her gaze finds mine. “I’ll come back when you’re dressed.”

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