Tyler’s face went as red as hers. He instantly averted his eyes. The flash of shock on his face was ruthlessly tamped down until all that was left was his usual slightly bored expression, which was somewhat contradicted by the hectic flush of red still staining his sharp cheekbones.

“I thought you might need something to settle your stomach,” he told her after a good deal of throat clearing. He sounded pissed off, but she couldn’t be sure when his eyes were still trained on the wall behind her, and his expression remained infuriatingly neutral.

“I’m not hungry,” she muttered as she dragged his jacket over her lap.

“Nevertheless, you should eat.”

“I feel sick.”

“Because you have more alcohol than food in your system. This will do you good.”

“Were you here all night?”

“I went home for a shower and change of clothes.”

Aah, of course. His well-fitted designer suit was a different shade of gray this morning. He must have rushed straight back here if the dampness of his short golden-brown hair was any indication.

“You, uh…you can look again. I’m decent,” she said.

His gaze swung back to hers and flickered down for a nanosecond, as if to verify her statement for himself.

“Thank you for lending me your jacket,” she said after another brief, awkward moment of silence. “I’m afraid it’s hopelessly wrinkled. I’ll have it dry cleaned and returned.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I insist.”

That chiseled jaw tightened, and the muscles popped below his ears as he gritted his teeth. He acknowledged her words with a brief nod.

He glanced around the large room, barely concealing his grimace, and strode to the worktable she had set up next to the massive bay windows. She enjoyed looking out while she designed her more outrageous flower arrangements. The special novelty designs for parties and the occasional wedding.

She rarely worked in her room anymore, it was no longer conducive to creativity. She spent as little time in here as possible. When she wasn’t at the shop, she was designing in the study or den downstairs. Those were better workspaces.

She wasn’t used to having Tyler Chambers in her apartment. He usually brought her home and did a quick scan of the place before he left for the night. Having him in her private living space was overwhelming.

But she had asked him to stay. She didn’t remember much about last night, but she could clearly remember that. She had pleaded with him not to leave her.

And he had complied.

How odd.

How sweet.

How very confusing.

She slid off the bed while his back was to her and, weirdly self-conscious about her tiny skirt in the bright light of day, she unthinkingly slid his jacket on over her “walk of shame” morning after outfit.

It instantly engulfed her.

At six foot three, Tyler towered above Vicki’s underwhelming five foot one. He was also broad and muscular. And even in those suits he wore every day, she could tell that he was ripped. But not bulky. He wore his size with comfort. And all of that physical prowess was apparent in the lethal grace of his predatory gait and the repressed strength in his every interaction with her.

He was so careful when he had to touch her in any way, as if he was constantly aware of the massive difference in their sizes and gentled his movements to compensate for that disparity.

But Vicki had never been more aware of that size difference than right now with his jacket practically eating her whole. The sleeves had to be rolled at least half a dozen times before her fingertips were visible and the hem was only five inches above her knees.

She tugged one of the bed’s drapery ties from the floor to fasten around her waist and prevent the sides of the jacket from sliding open. She gave herself a frowning glance in the dresser mirror and tried not to moan at the horrific sight that met her eyes. The massive jacket was the least of her concerns. She had raccoon eyes, her hair was a crazy mop of untamed curls, she had lipstick smears on either side of her mouth, giving her a distinctly Joker-esque grin, and she had a zombie green cast to her pale skin.

She was pretty much the epitome of death warmed over. And—she ducked her head and lifted her armpit slightly—ugh, she smelled.

Tyler turned to face her—appearing to properly look at her for the first time since he’d entered her room—and did a discreet double take. He made an admirable attempt to hide his reaction but was not quite able to disguise the flare of horrified amusement in those too beautiful eyes of his.

Vicki had never met anyone with violet eyes before Tyler and had always considered them a feminine trait. But on this man it was all kinds of sexy, and she found that niggling awareness really disturbing.

Tags: Natasha Anders (Un)Professionally Yours Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net