Cracking the door open with the towel wrapped around her, she saw a seriously grumpy male face, Danny’s hair all rumpled up and dark bristles shadowing his jaw and his chest on full display since he’d only pulled on a pair of black shorts. Shorts that revealed his thigh tattoo.

Her mouth watered.

Tightening her hand on the door handle, she said, “It’s the designer.” A cough to clear the rasp out of her voice. “Give him a cup of that delicious coffee I can smell and tell him I’ll be out in ten.”

“Just wear your underwear!” a stranger’s voice called out. “I need your measurements!”

When Danny, his expression a thundercloud, put his hands on his hips and began to turn toward their guest, she poked him in the shoulder with one finger. “Shoo. And don’t eat him.”

Then she shut the door and pressed her back to it for several long seconds, telling her misbehaving hormones to get with the program. Danny was off-limits. Now and forever.

The end.

Her pussy clenched.

11

DANNY, DON’T EAT THE DESIGNER

Horrified, she looked down in the direction of that body part, desperately shook her head. And decided to bury her head in the sand for the time being because she had to get dressed. She wasn’t sure how long the designer would be safe with Danny. The Bishop-Esera men could be overprotective.

Though, honestly, if she’d been in Danny’s position and some man was demanding her friend come out half-naked, she’d have been suspicious too. As it was, she found a pair of bike shorts and a slimline sports bra to cover herself. Respectable enough while giving the designer what he needed.

Danny was still in glare mode when she entered the living room, but he’d made her a coffee exactly as she liked and now shoved it over. He was still shirtless, still ridiculously beautifully male.

“Thanks,” she said and glanced around. “Where’s the designer? I told you not to eat him.”

“Outside.” With that short reply, he took a seat on a breakfast stool and turned his glower on the skinny and bespectacled Asian man of around forty who’d just wheeled in a whole rack of clothes.

“Oh my!” The man beamed, so dazzlingly awake that he clearly didn’t need any caffeine. “You’re even better in person than in the pictures. Those abs! And oh, you have cleavage! I have the perfect outfit!”

“You must be Jet,” Catie managed to interject.

But he was already rustling through his rack to emerge with an “Aha!”