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Zander nods and steps out. A moment later, I hear the tub running upstairs. Before long, he comes back for me.

Zander’s bathroom is bigger than my apartment’s kitchen. He’s set out a row of shampoos, conditioners, and bath oils for me to choose from, like he couldn’t decide which one I’d like. I’m not sure what surprises me more, the effort or how comfortable I feel letting him take care of me.

I would never have let Reid wash my hair. He would have wanted something in return. But everything about Zander says he’s safe, steady, and dependable, with no ulterior motive. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man like him.

He turns around while I undress and step into the tub. Once I’m under the bubbles, he kneels beside the bath and starts washing my hair. To say temptation rises hotter than the bathwater doesn’t do it justice. But as my desire builds for the gorgeous man massaging my scalp with his strong hands, the scent of vanilla shampoo filling the room, a pang of guilt comes with it.

I sit up slightly. “Zander, I need to tell you something.”

His eyes catch on my bare breasts, now just above the waterline. Our faces are close enough to touch, and the urge to kiss him is overwhelming. But he’s the one who hired me, and it would be wrong to let anything happen between us without confessing what’s already happened.

“I’m sleeping with Jarek,” I admit. “I know that’s not the most professional thing to say, but there was nothing in our contract about personal relationships, and it just sort of happened. It’s casual, nothing more, but I thought you should know.”

After all the lies and scandal with my ex, I refuse to keep secrets.

I’m not sure what reaction I expect. A scolding, maybe, or a reminder that my behavior is unprofessional at best and risks breaching my contract at worst. I could have kept my mouth shut. Maybe I should have, to protect my job. But Zander lowers my defenses with his surprising gentleness, and I can’t bring myself to hide anything from him.

Most likely, he won’t care. Honestly, why would he? It’s not as if sleeping with Jarek will affect my work.

But Zander’s response surprises me.

“I don’t care that you slept with him,” he says, as if reassuring himself as much as me. “I know what I want.”

For a second, I’m tempted to ask what exactly that is. But the look in his eyes is undeniable. What he wants is me.

I’d be lying if I said the feeling wasn’t mutual.

We stay like that, nose to nose, Zander leaning against the side of the tub, his steady breath on my face. I wait for a kiss that never comes. I can almost feel it, but he holds himself back and inhales deeply instead.

“There now.” He lifts a strand of wet hair from my shoulder and lets it fall down my back. “Let’s get you dressed.”

I got undressed on my own, brace and all, so I could probably manage pulling my shirt over my head or sliding my panties over my hips. But with Zander here to do it for me, I figure I’ll let him.

I’ve always been independent, stubbornly so. I can manage getting dressed by myself. I just don’t want to. Not this time.

My skin warms everywhere he touches it and burns everywhere his gaze lingers a little too long. He even brushes my hair once I’m dressed, a level of pampering I don’t think I’ve ever experienced.

“This is quite the role reversal, isn’t it?” I ask. “I’m supposed to be tending to your needs, not the other way around.”

“Well, you did hurt yourself doing your job,” he says. “From a liability standpoint, it’s the least I can do. Besides, it’s only temporary. Your wrist will heal in no time.”

Temporary.

That word is quickly becoming both my mantra and the bane of my existence. I’m not sure how I feel about my “temporary” arrangement right now, other than wanting it to last a little longer than New Year’s.

I shake my head, because those thoughts don’t serve me. I want to do a good job here, enjoy myself when I can, and then get back to building my career and put this messy year behind me.

“Did I pull your hair?” he asks, as if the head shake was his doing.

“No. Thank you for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s nothing.” He stands and opens the door for me. “You can thank me by getting some rest and putting more ice on that wrist.”

I nod and head for the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at Zander, still standing in the middle of his room.

The dark, heated look in his eyes and the slight bulge at the front of his pants tell me this wasn’t “nothing.”

CHAPTER 9