"Come on, Lord Sommerleigh," she says. "The doorman told me you're home. No point in pretending you aren't."
Will she ever stop calling me by my title?
Since I have no choice, I pull the door open partway. "What do you want? I'm not at the office, which means you have no right to harass me."
"I work twenty-four seven for my clients." Avery skims her gaze over me from head to toe, starting with my chest. She licks her lips, then clears her throat and looks me in the eye. "We need to talk. I can wait in the living room while you get dressed."
"Bugger off."
"No, Lord Sommerleigh, I won't go away." She folds her arms over her chest, which lifts her tits. "Might as well surrender. You can't out-stubborn me. Won't your mother be disappointed if you refuse to cooperate?"
Oh, now that is a low blow. Avery Hahn has no shame, does she?
I swing the door open and throw one arm wide. "Come in, milady. Shall I roll out a velvet carpet for you to walk upon?"
"That won't be necessary."
She ambles into the flat, heading for the sofa in the living room.
And I finally notice what she's wearing—jeans, a casual white blouse, and canvas shoes with no socks. The security camera only showed me black and white. Her hair, which had been tied back in a crisp bun earlier, now flows over her shoulders in luscious waves. Her deep blue eyes seem to sparkle in the sunlight beaming through the picture windows.
Avery stops near the sofa, her lips curling into a slight smile as she takes in her surroundings. "You have a nice place, but I assumed it would be…"
"Filled with erotic art and statues of fertility gods? Afraid I left my pornographic video collection back at Sommerleigh."
"Stop assuming you know what I assume."
"That sounds like some sort of grammatical feedback loop." I shut the door but don't move, and I try like hell not to look at her body. Getting an erection in front of the woman who wants to repair my public image seems like a ruddy awful idea. "What are you trying to say, darling? I can't read minds."
And I hope she can't either. Otherwise, I'm completely buggered.
"I said you shouldn't assume you know what I assume."
"What does that mean?" I throw my hands up. "Can we not play these word games? I've had enough of that rubbish."
Avery stops blinking, her eyes wider now. Her lips fall open, and her gaze darts down to my hips. Then she veers her gaze to my face, only to glance down at my hips again.
I glance down there too. "Oh, bollocks!"
Yes, I dropped the towel. I'm giving Avery Hahn the full monty.
"Sorry," I say, rushing to snatch up the towel. But I can't quite get hold of it and wind up whipping it about like a lunatic. "Sorry. I'll, ah—Never mind."
I race for the bedroom with the towel flapping behind me like a flag.
When I return a moment later, dressed in khaki trousers and a light-blue polo shirt, Avery is sitting on the sofa with her hands clasped on her lap. She sits upright, her spine straight.
"That was an unfortunate accident," I tell her as I drop onto an armchair. "Honestly, I wasn't trying to seduce you."
She eyes me sideways. "I should hope not. If that's the best Lord Steamy can do, I'll be severely disappointed. I mean, with all the hype about you, I expected better than streaking in your own apartment."
I raise one hand, palm out. "On my father's grave, I swear it was an accident."
"A formal vow is unnecessary."
Can't resist leaning forward, giving her my patented sensual smile while I lower my voice to a deeper tone. "For the record, darling, I can do much better than streaking. Would you like a demonstration?"
"No thank you." Though she spoke in a curt tone, her lips have curled up slightly. "But I'm glad that's not the best you've got."