He’s leaning against the doorway, wearing a navy Henley that clings in all the right places, sleeves pushed up his forearms,and light-wash jeans dusted with a layer of sawdust. He must’ve been in his workshop again, finishing up Brianna’s gift.
I’ll never get used to seeing him like this.
Worth Miller is the picture of perfection in tailored suits, cufflinks, and that CEO polish that makes everyone else shrink a little when he walks into a room. But this version of him? All rugged and effortless and impossiblymaleis dangerous for my libido.
The first time I found him dressed casually, coffee mug in hand, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, I nearly choked on my own drink. It’s been months, and the effect hasn’t worn off—if anything, it’s worse now.
He looks relaxed in a way that feels intimate, as if only the people closest to him get to see him like this. And my body has the audacity to respond like it’s never seen a man before.
Worth chuckles faintly, like he can read every thought running through my head.
“Don’t look so surprised,” I say, crossing my arms. “Did you not think we were capable of turning our house into a teenage girl’s dream?”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “That’s not what surprises me.”
“What, then?”
“The way you’re looking at me, pretty girl.”
Before I can respond, he bends and presses a light kiss to my forehead. The gesture steals the air from my lungs. It’s so gentle, so…married.
For a second, I let myself pretend this is real.
“You’re worried about your parents,” he states, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Worried is… a word,” I mutter. “They trust me. But they also think you’re either Prince Charming or a walking red flag.”
A hint of amusement warms his eyes. “Let them decide. I’m just going to show up as myself.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I tease weakly, but the truth is: that’s what comforts me most. He won’t perform. He’ll just be Worth.
He reaches over then, brushing his fingers over mine. “We’re okay,” he says simply. And somehow, I believe him.
“Worth,” I whisper in protest when his lips brush the side of my neck, acutely aware of Tiana and Brianna close by.
Worth smirks against my skin. “Also, don’t think I didn’t notice how you saidourhouse.”
Shit. I didn’t even realize it. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Yes, you did.” He cuts me off with a nibble to my ear.
“There will be six teenage girls in this house any minute. And my parents. We can’t.”
His grin melts and infuriates me all at once. “Can’t what, exactly?” He takes my hand, his thumb stroking slow circles against my palm, and pulls me gently toward the kitchen. My heart pounds as he opens the pantry door.
We’ve been dancing around the tension like it might bite if we get too close. It’s almost as if something opened between us, but also built a higher wall neither of us has dared to climb. Maybe because we’re both afraid of what is waiting on the other side. Of how far we’d fall if we let ourselves step over it.
At least, that’s why I haven’t.
But to say I don’t crave him would be a lie. Every brush of his hand, every look that lasts a moment too long, chips away at whatever’s left of my restraint. And now, seeing him like this—casual, dusted with sawdust, eyes dark with hunger—I know I’m not going to last much longer.
Worth hushes me with a look, his eyes dark. “Five minutes. Then I’ll let you go play hostess.”
He pulls me into the pantry and shuts the door behind us. The quiet swallows us whole.
Before I can speak, his mouth finds mine, and I press against him instantly. The taste of him, the rough slide of his hands, and the faint scrape of calluses against my skin is too good.
My fingers find the back of his neck, then his hair, tugging him closer until I can feel his pounding heartbeat and the hard ridges of his body against mine. The kiss deepens, turning wild, until I forget where I end and he begins.