‘Simone, I’m Talia.’ I smile at her. ‘I’m here to make your martinis.’

Simone’s polite and charming enough but I recognise the slight edge in her smile. She expects the best. If I deliver, she’ll approve. So I move fast. It doesn’t take me long to get to grips with the coffee machine and I make her martini. No one makes a meaner coffee than me.

And her delight is genuine. ‘Thank you, Talia.’

I don’t mind guests with high standards when they appreciate my work.

‘Can we get two more of those?’ one guest calls to me. ‘They look amazing.’

‘Of course.’ I smile. ‘I’ll bring them right over.’

As I make more martinis I talk strategy with the servers and send them out with the cocktails. The vibe of the room lifts. When I get a chance I check on Kiri. She’s still sweating bullets but the kitchen feels less chaotic.

Pleased, I take a breath and roll my shoulders. While I’d managed a swift shower, put on a clean dress, redone my hair and minimal make-up, my freshen up was only superficial. I’d kill to put my feet up. Instead I head to the storeroom to find those extra glasses. Hopefully a few moments’ respite from the noise will help. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the way certainly does. The sun is just setting. Wild clouds skitter over the wide sky, threatening to cloak the mountains in a moody shroud. Below, the city lights twinkle obliviously and the lake stretches into the distance. Some time I’ll actually have a day off. I’ll not stand for hours, not wait on others. I’ll curl in front of a cosy fire and a big window, drink something hot and sweet and do nothing but gaze at the view. I’ll just breathe.

But right now breathing is the only thing on that list that I can accomplish. I go into the storeroom, lean back against the door to close it and—

Breathing stops. Jaw drops. Brain...brain...?

Tall. Muscular. Shoulders. Ruffled hair. Rippled abs. Blue eyes. Intense blue eyes. Very intense.

In a succession of still shots, details imprint on my mind one at a time. Matching the frantic beat of my heart.

I know about the abs because he’s half naked. He’s a chiselled, X-rated, total wow of a man. And he’s half naked.

He has a crisp white shirt in his hand and apparently does not give a thought about his state of undress and my observation of it. As I stare he shakes out the shirt and shrugs it up over those broad shoulders. I realise my mouth’s ajar but it’s dry and I don’t shut it. I can’t. I can’t do anything because my brain is completely incompetent. The visuals are more than it can handle. He leisurely begins buttoning the shirt, his abs and pecs and other muscles ripple. He’s honestly like not from this earth. And that’s when it dawns on me.

‘You’re the entertainment...’ I slowly mutter. And yes, I’m marvelling.

Wow. Good for Simone. I really want to be her when I grow up.

His long fingers pause on the third button down. His eyes widen.

‘You’re late,’ I add after an uncomfortable beat. ‘It’s okay though. They’re not even onto dessert yet. They’re too busy talking but you’re going to stun them into silence.’

There’s silence right here, right now. And it only grows.

He’s frozen—the half-buttoned shirt still reveals a wide expanse of muscled body. I feel my face getting hotter.

‘Is there a problem?’ I blink and the smallest portion of brain comes back online. I’m used to sorting problems. ‘Do you need help or something?’

‘I had to sponge a mark off my shirt.’

‘Where?’ I squint. It looks perfect to me.

‘Here.’

I have to step closer to spot the small smudge.

‘Oh, they’re never going to notice that,’ I scoff. ‘You should’ve made it more wet,’ I joke. ‘That would be...’

At his jerky movement I trail off and clear my throat awkwardly.

‘Would be...?’ He prompts me.

I glance up and am ensnared in his gaze. He’s insanely good-looking. But of course he is. Simone is the type to have only the best money can buy. He must command squillions per performance.

‘I thought you guys had like special tear-away shirts and things,’ I mumble inanely, trying to turn away but only half succeeding. His isn’t some cheap satin suit with easy-open Velcro sides or anything. It’s high end. ‘Those shirt buttons are stiff. Is it a deliberate thing? To prolong the tease?’

‘The tease?’ A strange tenor flecks his low echo as he resumes fastening the buttons.

I suppress the shiver skittering down my spine. ‘That’s what it’s all about, right?’ I can’t stop myself babbling. ‘Taking the time, building the anticipation...’

Shut up, Talia.

‘Mmm...’ He nods and reaches for a black jacket I hadn’t even noticed slung on a nearby shelf and pulls a strip of black silk from the pocket. There’s a gleam in his eyes that makes shivers ripple through me. ‘Could you help me with my tie?’

I don’t believe for a second that he can’t tie his own bow tie. He’ll be taking it off and on multiple times a night.

‘I can’t do it without a mirror,’ he adds, apparently having just read my mind.

I summon self-control. Because I fix things. I oblige. It’s what I do. ‘Of course.’

I step closer and take the silk. He is much taller than me and I have to rise on tiptoe. Freshly shaven, his jaw is sharp and smooth and I smell a hint of cinnamon. His eyes are very blue and, honestly, I forget what I’m meant to be doing. I wobble. Instantly he puts a hand on my waist to steady me but the contact hits like an electrical current and it resets my heart. It beats faster. I breathe faster too. And my skin seems to have tripled in sensitivity because I swear I can feel the heat of him through my dress. Now my legs are wobblier still and suddenly it’s not just his hand at my waist, but his arm curled around my back pulling me closer until I’m all but leaning against him. It’s super embarrassing but there’s a glint in his eye that makes me refuse to step back and admit my mortification.

I’m all thumbs. I make myself remember what I’m supposed to be doing. Simone. The birthday guest should have the best night of her life.

‘They’re pretty noisy but in good spirits,’ I babble as I tie the silk. ‘Mostly women. It’s a birthday, you know?’

‘I know.’

Yeah, of course he does. He’s an absolute professional. He has a calm, confident deliberation about him, there’s no rushing him. I can’t resist breathing in again to appreciate that cinnamon. His hair has an ever so slightly damp look to it. He’s a pillar of sensual heat and I’ve basically plastered myself all over him.

I’m jealous of Simone and her party. Would it be okay to loiter at the back of the room during his show?

A wave of lust washes over me. I almost choke. I don’t behave like this. I don’t gawp at men. I prefer to avoid them—I have other priorities. Besides, I don’t want to risk discovering I’ve inherited my mother’s appalling taste in men. But I can’t stop staring—or leaning on him. I even pat his chest once I’ve finally finished the tie.

‘You’ll give her a good time, won’t you?’ I mumble. ‘She’s nice.’

He blinks. ‘A good time?’

My fingers seem to be stuck to his chest. I can’t lift them away from the heat of him. The hard strength is compelling. Instinctively I spread them wider. He tenses even more. We’re so close and it’s madness. I manage to lower my gaze from his but I only get as far as his mouth.

‘Do I pass inspection?’ he mutters.

‘I guess...’ I bite my lip.

‘Aren’t you in charge around here?’