He’s so gorgeous, absently petting Francesca while he stands there, staring. I stare right back, eating up the visual beauty. He’s rocking sweet stubble and his shirt is wrinkled. He’s a little disheveled. It makes him even sexier.

Anxiety makes my heart race. I want to run across the room and throw myself into his arms. I want him to cross the room, pick me up, and throw me down on the bed. I want his mouth on mine. I want it everywhere. I say and do none of these things. Instead I go with, “Hi.”

A month of banter, of conversations spent half-undressed, or in bed, or in pajamas being flirty makes this one of the most awkward situations ever. Also, my being naked doesn’t help.

“I see you washed your face.”

“And the rest of me.”

His eyes dip down and his tongue peeks out, dragging across his lip. “I see that, too.”

I tighten my grip on my towel. My fingers would really like to let it drop to the floor just to see what he’ll do.

He takes a step forward and so do I. My entire body hums with energy. Francesca wriggles in his arms and he loses his hold. She hops to the floor and skitters across the room, disappearing into the hall. Bancroft doesn’t seem to care as he advances on me. Is he going to kiss me? Is that a good idea? I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want it to matter.

He’s only a foot away when a crash startles us both. He hesitates and glances over his shoulder. It’s a second or two before he decides it doesn’t matter. In that time, I allow my towel to loosen, exposing the tops of my breasts. If I drop it another inch, he’ll see nipple. Just as he turns back to me there’s another louder crash. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I’ll be right back.”

He whirls around, hands balled into fists as he stalks down the hall.

I expel a breath and check the time. Dammit. It’s already after two. I actually have to leave for work soon, which leaves me no time to enjoy ogling Bancroft or to hear about his trip.

I close my door and rush to get dressed, throwing on a pair of shorts, a sports bra, and a loose shirt, because they’re pretty much the only clean things I have in here.

I hastily pack my work bag so I’m ready to go, luckily having never unpacked it from last night. Then I take a few deep, cleansing breaths. We just have to get past the initial awkwardness of seeing each other again for the first time after a month of daily phone conversations and a lot of sexual innuendo. It’ll be fine. I don’t have to jump him right away. I probably shouldn’t, truth be told. I’m so excited to see him, though. Too excited. I need to calm down.

I open the door and step out into the hall. I can hear him in his bedroom. The one I’ve been sleeping in for weeks. I check my bag, making sure it’s zipped up. I haven’t even told Amie the truth about where I’m working. I don’t want her to accidentally let it slip to Armstrong. He seems like the gossipy type.

Bancroft is visible through the crack in the door. A laundry basket sits at his feet, his suitcase lies open on the bed. He tosses items from the suitcase into the basket, red boxer briefs among them.

I knock on the door and peek my head around the jamb. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Francesca got up on the counter and knocked a bunch of stuff over, but it’s fine. Nothing broken, or anything. Come on in.”

Oh God. His voice is so damn sexy. And deep. Like the ocean. Like . . . I don’t know what else. But it sounds even better in real life than it does on the phone, and it does things to my body. Good things. Incredible things.

He stops what he’s doing when I peek my head inside, his eyes moving over me. He glances at the bag hanging from my shoulder and frowns. “Do you have to go somewhere?”

I drop it on the floor outside his room. “I have work.”

That frown deepens. “Oh. I thought you wouldn’t have to go until later.”

“We have rehearsal this afternoon.” I glance around his room, making sure I managed to put away all my things. It looks pretty good.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

I shake my head. “I won’t be back until late.”

“Oh.” He misses the laundry basket with a pair of pants and doesn’t bend down to pick them up. “What about tomorrow night?”

“I’m working then, too.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, that’s no good. When are we going to catch up?”

I’m not sure what we have to catch up on, other than his flight, since we’ve talked pretty much every day, but I don’t mind that he wants to spend time with me. I certainly wouldn’t mind spending time with him, naked, in his bed, playing hide and seek with his penis in my vagina. Dammit. I really need to get a handle on where my brain keeps going. It was much easier when he was an ocean away.

“I have Monday and Tuesday night off.”

“That’s four days from now.”

“We can catch up in the morning?”

“I have to be up early.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m still living here, so it’s not like we’ll lack opportunities to see each other, right?” Why is this so awkward? I don’t want it to be uncomfortable between us. I can’t tell if it’s me or him or both of us.

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He nods, but he’s chewing his lip, still looking displeased “I guess I’ll probably go into the office in a bit, then.”

“But you just got back. Don’t you get a day off?”

Bancroft shrugs. “Not much to do around here once I’m unpacked. I have lots of debriefing and meetings in the next few days. I might as well get a head start. Besides, it’ll keep me from falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon.”

“That’s a good idea.” I hate how uncomfortable this is right now. “Okay. Well, I should go. Maybe I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Sounds good. Break a leg tonight.”

I grimace, not because I’m actually worried about breaking anything, aside from my recent, botched auditions, I’m typically graceful, but because it feeds into the lie.

“Is that the wrong thing to say?” Bancroft asks.

I force a smile. “No, not wrong at all. Thanks. Thank you.” I’m stumbling over my words, aware I need to leave, but I’m having a hard time not going in for a hug.

It turns out I don’t need to worry about it. As I step around Bancroft his huge hand wraps around my wrist. The sensation is damn well magical. It’s been almost five weeks since he’s touched me. Longer than that since he’s kissed me—accidentally or not. In that time I’ve been flirting my ass off with him on the phone. So much flirting. So much self-gratifying once I’m no longer on the phone with him.

And right now he’s touching me. I must make some kind of noise, because his gaze locks on mine and he hesitates. It’s only for the briefest moment. I don’t want to lose this opportunity, so I step toward him. It’s enough of a positive signal. He tugs me closer still, and wraps his free arm around me.

Now the contact isn’t limited to his hand wrapped around my wrist, it’s his entire, massive frame pressed up against mine. He winds an arm around my waist, his palm smoothing over my lower back, pulling me in tighter. I imagine how much different this would’ve been had it happened when I was still just wearing a towel.

I swear I hear a hum come out of him. And I barely resist the urge to drop my hand to his ass and give it a squeeze.