John could have spent hours typing descriptions of the two-story, vaulted-ceiling, walnut-everything library. It was a book aficionado’s dream space, with stairs and ladders, and wood floors. But the moment he sat down in front of his laptop, at the wide, heavy desk, on the brown leather chair with the all-but-silent wheels, John hadn’t been able to focus on anything but the words coming out of him. And those words had everything to do with a tall, dark-haired egomaniac and not a thing to do with furniture.
“There you are.”
He told himself he shouldn’t be cringing at Parker’s voice. It wasn’t his fault he’d fallen asleep and made himself look like an unprofessional i***t. He’d told Parker he’d taken the sleeping pill. Parker was the one who’d chosen to do the massage. Parker would have h
