Not this time, though. This guy is impossible to ignore, and it’s not just because he’s wearing nothing but a black towel wrapped around his waist. At about six foot five with dark hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, and muscles on top of muscles, he’s the perfect example of tall, dark, and handsome come to life from the pages of a romance novel. Right down to that raspy growl of his voice.
It isn’t until his eyes sweep down my body, taking in the skimpy outfit my boss shoved into my hands that I finally remember what he asked when he opened the door.
“Who am I?” I quirk a brow at him and wave a hand at my barely there costume. “Obviously I’m Euterpe, the Greek muse of music, song, and lyric poetry.” My tone is tart. As if he should know. If he would have let me finish my song, maybe he would have figured it out.
“A muse?” I swear I can feel his gaze on my skin as he drags it back up my body to meet my eyes. My heart gives a weird flutter. His full lips tilt up in a tiny grin that makes him more handsome. “I should’ve known.”
Even though I gave him a little bit of a hard time about my costume being obvious, it really isn’t. Most people would probably assume I’m one of the better-known Greek goddesses like Aphrodite or Athena instead. I’m not sure why he thinks he should’ve known I was a muse, but I don’t get the chance to ask about it before a deep, male voice calls out from not too far behind me. “You need help with her, boss? I’m more than willing to take her off your hands. We can get together and make some sweet, sweet music, if you know what I mean.”
All the humor in his eyes disappears as his gaze darts over my shoulder. He glares at the guy who made the sleazy comment and then reaches out to wrap his big hand around my arm. Before I know what’s happening, he yanks me into the house and slams the door shut behind me. I hear the sound of the lock click into place. He lets go of my arm a moment later, stalking over to a black leather couch.
He grabs a cream throw blanket off the back of it and tosses it to me. I reach out to catch it out of pure reflex and look down at the blanket in confusion. I have no idea why he thinks I need it until he barks out, “You can’t walk around half-dressed like that.”
“You’re kidding me, right? I’m not the one with a towel wrapped around my hips,” I mutter as I toss the super-soft material right back at him. “If anyone needs this, it’s you. Not me.”
“You’d be right, except my towel covers a fuck of a lot more than that teeny tiny excuse for a dress you’re wearing.” He prowls back over to me, and his gaze drops lower. I’m fascinated by the way his eyes deepen to a shade that exactly matches the milk chocolate bars I’m addicted to.
Considering he’s wearing an oversized bath towel around his waist, and my dress is more along the lines of a small shirt that barely covers my butt and my boobs at the same time, he’s definitely right. But that doesn’t stop me from opening my mouth to argue with him. He presses a finger against my lips and adds, “There’s also the fact that I could see your bra and panties.”
“You can?” I yelp, grabbing for the blanket to wrap it around my shoulders and hold it together with a fist to my chest.
“When you were standing on my porch with the sun streaming behind you? Hell yeah, I could.”
“Oh.” I tighten my grip on the blanket, more than a little bit turned on by the idea of him seeing the white lace panty and bra set I put on this morning. I wonder if he liked what he saw. I didn’t know my boss was going to put me in a dress two sizes too small for me. I had no choice but to wear the thing. Most of the outfits from work are snug on me. I carry a little more weight than the rest of the girls at the agency, but I got the job because I could sing better than anyone else there. If I’d known I would be coming to a hot man’s door who would get a peek at them, maybe I would have worn sexier underwear. No, because I don’t own any. Also I would have chickened out.
He shifts his gaze to glare at his door and growls, “And so could every other guy out there.”
The thrill from a moment ago disappears because other guys checking me out isn’t a turn-on for me. This man, though, is different. I don’t know why, but I can feel it. I don’t know anything about him except that he lives in a huge house with a gate and security and someone in his life hired him a singing telegram. Which I really need to do so I can get out of here before I do something crazy like throw myself at him ’cause my mind keeps telling me to do that.