Whatever the case, I brush my teeth, toss the brush in the trash, and then face the door. Now, I’ll leave. He’s not here, so why am I nervous? I’m just going to grab my purse and head out the door. I reach for the knob. What if he is here? He’s not. He’s not here. I open the door and yelp as I find Shane standing in front me, already dressed to kill in a black suit, royal-blue tie, and starched white shirt.

“You’re really good at scaring me,” I accuse, balling my fist at my racing heart, elated that he’s still here when I should be welcoming a quick departure.

“Not my intent. I was going to knock and make sure you found the T-shirt.” His gaze lowers and lifts. And I see you did.” He drags me to him and gives me a fast, quick, but oh-so-drugging kiss, the taste of man and rich, strong coffee, exploding in my senses. “Minty fresh,” he says softly. “Looks like you found the toothbrush too. Unless you used my toothbrush.”

“No,” I say appalled. “I’d never do that. Has someone actually done that?”

“They never get the chance since I don’t invite women to my apartment.”

“What?” I ask, stunned yet again by this man, and by the fact that my hand has found its way to his chest, right where I want it.

“I never invite women to my apartment and damn sure don’t curse the phone call that got me out of bed with them.”

My heart is thundering, but so is his under my palm, and that crazy, addictive energy that charged the air around us last night is back. “What are we doing, Shane?”

“Figuring it out as we go.”

“I’m not … I can’t…”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“No. No, we can’t. We said—”

“No PTA,” he supplies. “Just a lot of fucking and whatever else we decide to let happen.”

“Shane—”

The doorbell rings. “And that will be the coffee I ordered. I was afraid mine would put hair on your chest and I like you how you are.” He kisses me fast and hard. “Meet me downstairs.” And just like that, he’s leaving and I’m staring after him, once again with my fingers on my mouth where his lips just were. I can’t do this. Can I? Maybe just another night or two won’t hurt. I can do that. I want to do it. I am doing it.

Charging forward before I change my mind, I exit the room, and hurry down what in the light of day is truly a stunning bamboo staircase attached to the wall. At the bottom level, Shane is nowhere to be found. I hurry to the bar to grab my purse and check my phone. The minute I reach the bar, I find him on the opposite side. “White mocha,” he says, setting a Starbucks-style cup in front of me. “That’s what they recommended downstairs.”

I reach for the cup. “Thank you.” This man is too charming for my own good. “It’s my favorite.” I take a sip. “And it’s excellent.”

His eyes light up. “Then I owe Tai an extra tip.”

Really too charming. “He didn’t mention a bra randomly falling on someone’s head did he?”

He laughs. “No. He didn’t, but that would be good for a laugh.”

“That would be humiliating.”

“They’d never know it was yours.” He lifts a bag. “Bagels. They make them here.”

“Don’t you have to be at work?”

“Eventually.”

One of my phones rings and I bend down to grab my purse and somehow—it’s unzipped and I end up pouring the contents everywhere. I squat and scramble to pick everything up, reaching for one phone, and then the other, but it’s too late. Shane is on a knee in front of me, and he’s got the second. He glances at it and at the one in my hand. “Two phones.”

Unease ripples through me. “I bought a new one when I lost mine.”

I can see his mind working, perhaps remembering me telling the guard the phone I’d lost was new. “Two new phones,” he says, confirming that’s exactly what he was thinking. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Let me help you.”

A ball of emotions tightens in my chest. “We’re sex, Shane. This isn’t your problem any more than I should have commented about you looking into your father’s date last night.” I shove the phone, as well as my compact back in my purse, holding out my hand. “Can I have that please?”

He stands with my phone and I follow him to my feet, slipping my purse over my head and across my body. We stare at each other, and those gray eyes study me, intensely gorgeous. I hate that I met him now, this way. “Shane—”

He steps to me, taking my hand and pressing the phone into it, holding on to it and me. “You’re right. It’s none of my business. Yet. But I plan to change that.”

“I don’t want you to change that.”

“Yes. You do.”

He’s wrong. Because I like him. Really like him and he’d most likely hate me if he knew the secret I’m hiding. “You don’t understand—”

“Make me understand.”

“It’s complicated. We both agreed we aren’t doing complicated.”

“I’m good at complicated, sweetheart. Try me.”

If only it were that simple. My phone starts to ring in our hands. “It could be about a job,” I say, grasping at a chance to breathe and think.

“Of course. We’ll talk when you’re done.”