In my Arms Tonight (NYC Singles Book 2) by Sasha Clinton Page B

her.
    “It’s you.” Her voice grew unnaturally husky. He was the last man whose face she wanted to see when she was on the edge of am orgasm.
    “Yes.” The monosyllable was weak. “I had no idea you lived here.”
    Kat considered slamming the door shut in his face, but he was pitiable in his drenched clothes. Plus, she considered him almost a friend after the deep conversation they’d shared that night.
    “Wanna come in? You’re wet.” She pushed open the door wider.
    Alex’s gaze grazed her ankle.
    That was when she realized that her boobs were pouring out of her top and she’d forgotten to wear a bra—something that was pretty obvious from the way her nipples protruded. Reflected in Alex’s eyes were her glazed eyes and bed hair.
    On a scale of one to ten, this would be a solid ten in terms of embarrassment factor.
    “Did I disturb you while you were doing something important?” Alex glued his eyes onto her face rather than to the other more interesting bits of her that frankly, any man would have wanted to look at.
    Give the guy some points for decency, she thought.
    “Just watching Netflix.” The TV blared in the background and saved whatever shred of dignity she had remaining.
    Alex crossed the threshold to her house. “If isn’t too much to ask, can I get a towel?”
    “Sure. And I might have a spare T-shirt your size, too.”
    The click of the door locking behind her made all the hairs on Kat’s back stand up.
    Alone with a man in her house.
    Anxious, she grabbed her phone from the coffee table. Every safety app developed in the history of humankind was installed on it. She didn’t think Alex would harm her, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
    “What were you watching?” Alex’s gaze settled on her TV screen. “Looks… interesting.”
    Kat kept a safe distance from him. “Have a seat. I’ll try to trace the whereabouts of that T-shirt I promised you.”
    Moving into her room, she grabbed a towel then battled the mess in her closet until she managed to locate the oversized T-shirt her boyfriend had left here five years ago. Yes, she still had that.
    “You have a camera in your living room,” Alex remarked when Kat handed him the towel and T-shirt.
    Not wanting to talk about the stalker thing and the home security system she had installed in response to the incident, she said, “Use my room to change.”
    Alex negotiated his way to her room and shut the door.
    Settling into the couch, Kat busied herself trying to make out a storyline from the images on TV. If he ever came back and asked her what the movie was about, she’d need an answer.
    The film was called The Capitol Game and from whatever little she could make out, it was a B-grade political thriller—one involving a fictional president who had gotten an intern pregnant. She was now out to destroy his life and have him impeached.
    Did screenplay writers never get sick of writing derivatives of the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal?
    In the scene that was playing, the nutcase intern was stalking him, trying to find an opening to exact her revenge. Generally, Kat didn’t appreciate movies with such hare-brained plots, but what the script lacked in story, it made up for in its (mostly unintended) comedy. She was rolling over with laughter, tearing up within minutes. Alex cleared his throat behind her.
    “This is so funny—” Her hands stilled and the rest of her body followed as soon as she realized that Alex was bare-chested.
    And holy hell, he had tattoos.
    Alex Summer, Mr. Uptight, model citizen had tattoos. Plural.
    Starting right below his collarbone, they wound down his right arm, stopping a few hairs shy of his wrist. No wonder he never stepped out in anything but full-sleeved shirts, even in the middle of summer. If somebody saw him like this, they’d be unable to buy into the ‘responsible, dependable, clean’ image he had cultivated with the help of his army of political consultants and press secretaries.
    Warmth snaked