Her heart raced wildly. She didn’t want him to know that she’d overheard anything, so she tried to act as cool and calm as possible. Unfortunately, acting was not her strong suit. She was just pulling her camisole over her head when Christian appeared. “You’re up,” he said and then frowned, “and dressed. Why are you dressed?” “I—I have to go. I have clients I need to take care of,” she said stiffly. She made the mistake of looking at him, and she nearly choked on her tongue. He was standing in front of her, wearing nothing but what she had determined had become his trademark paint-stained jeans. These jeans were faded to almost white with giant holes ripped in the left thigh and one on the right knee. The top button was unfastened as if he’d dressed in a hurry. The jeans hung low on his hips, revealing the deep V cut of his muscles. It was that particular cut that had always been her weakness. She slowly brought her eyes up, over the dips and valleys of his muscles and to his neck.
