After a few minutes of indecision, I finally decided to keep on my current outfit. Which was perfect because my Converse were the perfect compliment.
Once I pulled on my shoes and composed myself somewhat, I grabbed my apartment key, locked the door, and pivoted so that I was facing Mr. Parker’s door.
Not a long walk.
It was possible I stood there for a couple of minutes—maybe five—before I got up the nerve to take the final three steps to his door. I lifted my hand to knock, then dropped it. He’d told me to come in, so should I do that?
It was awkward to open the door and let myself into Mr. Parker’s apartment, but I didn’t want to put him out, so I did just that. When I stepped inside, I was overwhelmed by a delicious aroma that seemed to fill the apartment.
“Damn it,” Mr. Parker snarled. “I’ll be right back. Got sauce on my shirt.”
I heard Mr. Snowden laugh in response. “There’s a reason I try to keep you out of the kitchen.”
I closed the door behind me and the clicking sound it made seemed extremely loud for some reason.
Mr. Snowden stepped into the living room, his eyes coming to rest on me, and a smile tilted those ridiculously sensual lips.
“I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me, too.” He had no idea how much.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he said, holding out his hand as I moved toward him.
I smiled, unable to help myself. I’d missed them in the few short hours we’d been apart.
As though it was natural, I put my hand in his and allowed him to lead me toward the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.
Although the kitchen in my apartment was beyond spectacular, Mr. Parker’s was a little fancier. As though it’d been upgraded with a chef in mind. There were two ovens and a huge five-burner gas stove. Everything was stainless steel and shiny.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Uh…sure.” I didn’t usually drink—another extravagance I hadn’t been able to afford—but I wasn’t opposed to wine.
“How’s the apartment?” Mr. Snowden asked as he poured a glass, then passed it over to me.
“It’s ah-mazing. I—” My words died instantly when Mr. Parker stepped around the corner and into the kitchen, pulling a T-shirt over his head.
My mouth practically dried up at the sight of his delectable chest. Solid muscle covered by smooth, bronzed skin, with a set of abs—complete with divine dips and valleys—that practically begged for my touch. The man was drool-worthy and I was wondering how I hadn’t noticed it before now.
Okay, so I’d noticed.
As far as his face went, Mr. Parker was conventionally handsome with his blond hair, blue eyes, and chiseled jaw, but I hadn’t realized he’d been hiding a smoking-hot bod beneath the expensive clothes. In fact, I’d thought he was a little on the thin side, but clearly I was wrong. He was ripped.
And I was staring.
Mr. Snowden chuckled. I blushed.
“She was telling me about the apartment,” Mr. Snowden stated as he turned toward the oven. “Apparently, she got a little sidetracked by your nakedness.” His golden eyes came over to me. “Don’t worry. He has the same effect on me.”
I felt my blush creep up my neck and I suspected Mr. Parker noticed, because he smiled.
“It’s a great apartment,” I finally said, taking a sip of my wine. “Thank you again for everything.”
Mr. Parker shook his head. “Don’t thank me.”
His words weren’t said as a polite brush-off. He sounded serious, so I nodded and turned my attention back to Mr. Snowden.
“Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Mr. Snowden peered at us over his shoulder. “Why don’t you show her your playroom?”
Mr. Parker cocked one blond eyebrow.
“You have a playroom?” That sounded fun.
I wanted to know what they were into and one way to find that out was to see the inner workings for myself.
“Come on.” Mr. Parker held out his hand and once again, I found myself walking right up and giving him mine in return.
For some reason, I liked that these men touched me. Not in a sexual manner, per se. But it was friendly and made me feel welcome. I hadn’t had much of that in my life. Not as far back as I could remember, anyway.
Mr. Parker led me through the living room to a closed door on the opposite side of the room from his bedroom. There was a small alcove with a lighted niche in the wall. Hanging there was an abstract painting in black, white, and red. Down the short hallway was what appeared to be a bathroom.
“This is where I keep the fine china,” he said.
Another joke? He was full of surprises all around.
“Yeah? Good thing I didn’t know about it last night.”
When he turned the knob and pushed the door open, Mr. Parker stepped back and allowed me to walk in before him.
