the shower, the last burst landing hot on his chest. He slumped against the cold tile, his fist still gripped around his throbbing cock.
Fuck. If just fantasizing about doing it with Noelle was that explosive, he was afraid to think what might happen if they actually had sex.
He turned the water temperature down a notch, figuring a splash of cold was just the thing to snap him back to reality. He’d barely started to lather up when a crash, followed by a high-pitched, distinctly female “shit” stopped him cold.
“Who’s there?” he barked, hastily rinsing himself before shutting off the water.
The only answer was the snick of metal against metal as the door caught in the latch.
Someone was there. Or had been. Listening to—or even watching—him.
And not just someone. A female someone.
Noelle? Had she seen him? Heard him cry out her name as he came?
He grabbed a towel off the rack, patted himself dry and had it fastened around his waist before you could say “ground rule double.” But when he opened the bathroom door, his room was empty.
He scanned from corner to corner, searching for some clue as to who had been there. Whatever his visitor had crashed into was apparently still intact and had been put back in its proper place. But his eyes stopped on one familiar object that definitely wasn’t there when he went to shower.
His cell phone. The one he’d lost in PT. On the table next to his bed.
So his voyeur was also a Good Samaritan. That explained what she’d been doing there in the first place. But it didn’t leave him any closer to knowing her identity.
Yet.
He picked up the phone and turned it on, thanking his lucky stars Sara had insisted they exchange cell numbers. Ignoring the notifications that flashed on the screen, he opened a new text message and started typing.
Thanks for dropping off my phone. Hope you enjoyed the show.
He figured he’d have to wait for her response after he hit Send, but he was wrong. She must have been between patients or on a break or something, because almost immediately he could see she’d started typing. A few seconds later, her answer appeared.
Not me, hot shot. You can thank your ballerina friend. Can’t wait to hear about the show.
She ended the text with a winky face emoji.
Jackpot. Noelle was his Peeping Tom. Again. And this time she’d gotten even more of an eyeful—and earful—than last time.
Whistling, he texted Sara back.
I’d do that if I could find her. Haven’t seen her all week.
He hoped Sara might have some idea of Noelle’s whereabouts. Then he could ambush the Duchess and have some fun messing with her.
And man, did he want to mess with her. Big time.
Again, Sara’s answer came quickly.
She’ll be here any minute. Has PT until 4:00. And you know my zero tolerance policy on interruptions.
Jace checked the clock on his phone. He had just enough time to change, return a few calls, and be lying in wait for Noelle outside the PT room when she finished up with Sara. His thumbs flew on the keyboard as he sent his response.
No problem. Tell her I’ll catch up with her at dinner. Thx.
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