Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(63)

Lorenzo walks through it, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He looks like one of Michelangelo’s statues, meant to be ogled at from behind a red velvet rope.

Fitting, since I can look but not touch.

He ignores my existence as he heads to his suitcase and bends over, giving me a glorious view of his back muscles. He’s leaner than other men I’ve dated but more defined in a way that makes me want to trace the dips and curves of his muscles with—

“Like what you see?” he asks without checking to confirm if I’m staring.

My eyes stretch to their limits. “How did you know…”

He turns around, hitting me with a smirk that makes heat pool in my belly. “I can feel you watching me.”

“Is that a new thing?” With the amount of times I check him out, I’m praying so.

He shakes his head, sending my mind into a tailspin.

“Couldn’t you have brought your clothes into the bathroom before you showered?”

“And miss out on your reaction to seeing me shirtless? Pass.”

“So you admit to prancing around on purpose.” I motion toward his glistening body.

He chokes on a laugh. “I did not prance.”

“You strutted across the room like a damn peacock.”

“Only because you stared at me like you were waiting for me to drop the towel.”

“Did not!”

He walks over to me, my heartbeats matching the rhythm of his steps. “You’ve got something right…” He brushes the corner of my mouth, and a gasp gets trapped in my tightening throat.

I go to push him away, but when my hands land on his chest, I forget all about it.

He chuckles. “Do I feel as good as I look?”

“You’re so self-absorbed.”

“It’s called being confident.”

“You pronounced conceited wrong.”

He chuckles, his chest shifting underneath my palms from the sound.

I should take my hands off him, but then I notice the way his heart is beating faster than expected—so fast, in fact, I think it outpaces mine.

An interesting development.

He’s also affected, if not more, yet I couldn’t tell based on his smug little smirk.

I’ll show him. I drag my hand lower, tracing his abs one by one, his chest stalling as he holds his breath.

“You okay?” I ask innocently, batting my lashes.

“Just waiting until you’re satisfied.”

I look up at him with a smile. “With you, I’d be waiting forever.”

With a little shove, he stumbles backward, and I jump off the bed, grab my PJs, and slip inside the bathroom, all while laughing at the stunned expression on his face as I slam the door.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


Lorenzo


After I get up on three separate occasions to check the lock on the door, I climb into bed for the final time. I keep to the right side of the mattress although I prefer the left, all because I don’t trust the flimsy security latch meant to protect us from an intruder.

I’ve seen one too many videos of people breaking into hotel rooms, so the chances of me getting more than a few hours of sleep tonight are slim, especially when I think of who I’ll be sharing a bed with.

If I didn’t care about Lily, I’d choose my own comfort over her safety, but there is this undeniable need to…protect, right up there with my desire to possess. The urge has strengthened with every passing hour of our ruse, and I’m still not entirely sure how to navigate these complex feelings.

There are a few emotions hitting me all at once, and it’s overwhelming after spending so many years on autopilot—existing but never truly living.

Lily, who suffers from the opposite issue, is unaware of my existential crisis. She sings along to a song while she showers, making it impossible to ignore her presence.

Water splashing against the tiles can be heard from the bed, and before I can rein it in, my imagination has a mind of its own and paints a pretty picture for me.

In this fantasy, Lily is standing under the hot spray, completely naked with soap sliding down her body. Her eyes are closed, so she doesn’t see me stepping into the stall behind her. She lets out a gasp when my arms circle around her, but it’s quickly cut off by a moan as I slide my hand over her stomach before I finally reach her—

The mental image is shattered when Lily drops something in the shower.

Fuck.

I grab the comforter and yank it up to my chin, silently commanding that my growing problem goes away before Lily steps out of the bathroom.

Despite my best efforts to distract myself, my thoughts drift back to Lily, and I blame her singing. I wish I could say it’s bad, but on the contrary, she has a nice, sultry voice that doesn’t match her bubbly, pink is my favorite neutral personality.

I’m tempted to sneak into the bathroom and shut her phone off, all because I don’t like the idea of her listening to another man’s voice while she’s naked.

With a frustrated groan, I knock my head back against the linen headboard.

A minute later, Lily cracks the door open a few inches and pops her head out. “You good?”

“Yeah. Why?” I turn to look at her and wish I didn’t.

Water sluices down her skin, dripping down her neck before disappearing underneath the white towel wrapped around her.