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Using lass desk to face my bedroom Even by my standards, this roooverlooking New York Harbor The other walls are covered in fine, black and white photography inside gilded frames Polished floors peek out froiant four-poster bed sitting against the wall, fancy almost to a fault with its pink, puffy bedclothes It looks like a cotton candy cloud

That bed is where I dream of Grant Where I wake up frustrated and achy

It lass instead of high thread count Egyptian cotton

My cell phone beeps on the table, letting me know it’s six o’clock and every inch of oosebuets home at the exact sa fast and loose with his schedule No, Grant is exacting and precise He gets what he wants

I just wish he’d want me the way I want him

Knowing he’ll walk through h s in its usual spot onit on, though Maybe sincebraver My heart skips and skids as I letacross the mattress on my stomach

In nothing but a tank top and panties

What a? Am I crazy?

Looking back overout ofto put oncitizen—

But I hear the telltale creak outside my door

“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I whisper

Co up with no other options, I flop down on the bed and pretend to be asleep

You know, like a totally hteen-year-old

The door opens slowly and that ticklish sensation hits between s It’s his scent Bourbon poured over ice, topped with mint There’s no reason why that se inthat coh Too many times

It’s a ridiculous dreaeous, thirty-three-year-old, millionaire, bachelor stepbrother has onlydeep inside hi an abandoned half-sibling running around untethered in New York City could be bad for his reputation on the off chance I land myself in trouble Whatever the reason I’ve found rateful and stop wishing he’d kiss me Or touch me