“He was ready to eat her up, that’s for sure. If Winthrope hadn’t been there, I might have broken his nose,” Ward says so seriously I’m not sure he’s joking.
And yes, I kinda like it.
“So, you didn’t come to blows?” Reese shakes her head. “Bossman, I’m disappointed.”
I throw my hands up.
“Can we change the subject?”
“I let him know she’s mine, and no one else’s, Reese. The kid ran off with his tail between his legs. If he ever sees me again and makes a move on her, he’ll regret it.”
I clear my throat, so ready to be done with this.
Ward meets my eyes. “Sorry, his attitude pissed me off. Now, we can change the subject.”
“I’m mortified.” I glare at him.
“Because I don’t want you manhandled by anyone else?”
I raise the privacy screen. “Ward. He wouldn’t have manhandled me, and he wasn’t flirting. It wasn’t funny.”
His eyes widen as he looks at me, drinking in the sour expression on my face.
“Didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” He takes my hand, hooking those massive fingers around mine. “I make bad jokes when I’m mad. I’ve enjoyed the evening with you, and if I’ve fucked that up in the last five minutes. I apologize.”
He’s actually being sincere.
Sighing, I snuggle in closer to him and drop my head on his shoulder, forgetting Reese isn’t someone we need to put on a big show for.
Is he cool with this? He makes no effort to pull away. Okay. Maybe that burn-me-down kiss wasn’t a freak accident.
His arm closes around my waist, and there’s my answer.
I beam at him.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking into the penthouse, still holding hands.
“What are you hungry for tonight?” Ward asks, peeling off his jacket.
“I could use a big fat deep dish pizza. And a milkshake.”
“What a combination.” He chuckles and gives me a warm side-eye. “Don’t tell me junk food’s been the way to your heart all along?”
I wink. “Honestly, I’ve got to get out of this dress before I can care.”
His eyes drop to my neckline and slowly trace back up to my face. “That’s too bad. It’s a hell of a look.”
“It’s covered in beads, you mean. This thing weighs ten pounds and I’m wearing a corset under it.”
He gives me this shocked puppy look.
“You need a corset? I’ve seen you in those office skirts, Paige. If that’s a shape that needs improving, then I’m a frigging librarian.”
I’m grateful for the involuntary snort that rips out of me.
It helps hide the cherry blossom blush on my cheeks. “Darling, you have no idea how lucky you are to never have to be a woman in formalwear.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’m going to change.” I start down the hall to the elevator—yes, he has an elevator inside this place. “Don’t forget—pizza and milkshake!” I call over my shoulder.
His thick, honest laugh follows me.
I’m soaring.
Ten minutes later, I strut out in pink pajamas and find Ward’s changed too. He lounges on the couch in sweats and no shirt.
Dear God. His muscles have muscles, and possibly their own zip code.
No exaggerating, I’ve never seen a more exquisitely sculpted chest. Definitely not one that’s rocking an eagle tattoo like a mural, a fierce bird sweeping down on some mountains detailed by a black sunrise.
Lip biting time. I want to touch him, but he’s too far away. Plus, there’s no way to play it off when this place is so massive the blind would avoid accidental collisions with ease.
“I ordered the grub. It’ll be here soon. Hope pepperoni’s okay,” he says.
I nod.
As long as you don’t put a shirt on, Ward Brandt, anything is fine and dandy.
“You’re staring. Does my casual look bother you?” he asks like he’s reading my mind. “I’m not used to sharing this place and old habits die hard.”
Yes, sir. Very bothered in all the worst ways.
Of course, I eat my thoughts and shake my head, one speed below helicopter. I desperately avoid his gaze until I hear that iron laugh.
“Are you sure? I can throw on a shirt if it makes you uncomfortable.”
For a second, I open one eye and squint at his stupid, sexy grin. Is he dense or just torturing me?
“You could be a sculpture,” I say before I have a chance to shut up.
Eep.
“Yeah? And how would you sculpt me?” he asks, flexing like he’s doing his best Popeye impression.
Now, our eyes connect, but not for long.
We’re both thinking the same thing—my hands, on him.
His growl in my ear.
My fingers exploring his form, straight down the tight fissures of his abs, then lower and lower until I’m teasing his throbbing—
Right. He asked me a question.
I have to take all of him in to answer. The epiphany kicks like a mule.
“You’d be Orion. Totally. A warrior hunter in a pose worthy of the gods, club held high, shield forward, eyes on the heavens and ready to kick some serious butt. And they did the butt-kicking shirtless in those days, I’m pretty sure,” I say with a goofy grin.