“I don’t know, Alex. Maybe if you come around enough, you can worm your way into his heart, and he’ll make you his second marriage,” I said wryly.
His eyes sparkled as he laughed. “I’ll keep dreaming.”
I showed him around the rest of the house, letting him marvel at the sheer size and luxury of it. I showed him my bedroom, which was looking much more lived in these days, but just pointed to the closed doors of Walker’s room before moving on quickly. Alex slowed his steps, and when I turned around to see what was holding him up, he waggled his eyebrows and jerked his head toward the doors.
“So, getting any action?”
I gave him a deadpan stare.
“What?” He shrugged. “It’s a logical question. You’re married, you might as well be getting all the perks of married life.”
“It’s not that kind of marriage! And no, we’re not sleeping together,” I said. “There wouldn’t be a chance even if we wanted to. He doesn’t usually get home until late, and considering he’s an absolute workaholic, he usually brings work with him.”
Alex chuckled.
“What?”
“For your ‘fake’ marriage, you certainly sound like you’re in a real one. Sexual frustration and all.”
I sputtered. Sexual frustration? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Honey, you’re sharing a house with the beefcake you dated in high school. And from the sound of things, he’s even hotter and richer now. That bitterness over those uneventful late nights isn’t for nothing.”
Damn Alex. I needed some less perceptive friends.
He was right. Being stuck this house with the man who had owned my heart and soul, taken my virginity, and showed me what true love really felt like was torture.
Unbidden, an incident from a few days ago flashed through my mind.
I’d spent almost the entire day in the studio and finally stepped out for a shower.
Paint ran down from my fingers, leaving drips and splatters that ended up on my thighs. The water ran in a kaleidoscope of colors. It was artwork in and of itself, really. A temporary painting with a limited, appreciative audience. It was kind of magical in its own way. I’d always been fascinated with the different ways art could be interpreted.
Smiling to myself as I finished up my shower, I wondered when Walker would be home. Not that I’d cooked him dinner or anything. I wasn’t really the domestic sort; I’d never been big into cooking or cleaning or those sorts of things. Walker didn’t seem to mind, since he had his own routines and preferred sticking to them.
Part of me wondered if I should make the effort while I was here…
A chuckle fell from my lips before I could even finished the thought.
Me in a kitchen was a recipe for disaster. Walker was probably better off if I left the domestic tasks to his tidy mind and the housekeeper who came once a week.
Stepping out of the shower, I patted myself dry before wrapping the towel around my body. I could put up my hair for the night and chill for the rest of the evening. Maybe do a cool down sketch before bed—
As I stepped out of the bathroom into the hallway, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Walker must have come home while I was still under the hot spray of my shower. His bedroom doors were open, and he’d just come out of his walk-in closet, shirtless and pantless. My mouth dried, eyes instantly falling down to the hard trail of muscle leading to his pelvis. Walker liked wearing boxer briefs, the good well-fitted kind that left little to the imagination with the semi-hard outline of manhood beneath black material. It wasn’t the first time that I had seen him in anything outside of his usual perfectly pressed suits, but it was the first time that I had seen him in so little. I hadn’t been prepared for it, and the heat on my face showed that much.
Christ. He was so… unbelievably gorgeous. Could you call a man gorgeous? Perhaps not to his face, but Walker never cared about things like that when we were growing up. He was a gorgeous man. The complexion of his naturally tanned skin, the tone of perfectly cultivated muscle—
“Oh, Macks. You’re done.”
His voice made me jump, and I dragged my gaze up his body to his face. I was sure my own face was flushed beet red.
“Hey, uh, Walker. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
I wasn’t quite sure how to end that sentence. I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than admit I’d been ogling him.
A grin tilted his full lips. “It’s okay. Hazards of sharing a house with someone, I guess.”