He stood there staring at me, eyes narrowed. I could smell a faint scent of alcohol. It wasn’t too strong, and mixed with his cologne, it was actually…intoxicating.
“Mr. Peterson?” I gently called him.
But he didn’t answer, and shoved me away.
“Mr. Peterson!”
I stood by the door, and was stunned watching him find his way directly to my bed and collapsed on it.
My eyes widened. Now what?
Then I realized that I was in my pajamas. It was a lavender button down silk top, and a pair of matching silk bottoms with my initials hand-stitched into them–a gift from Bethany.
I didn’t want him to see me in my eveningwear, nor did I want him inebriated in my bed.
He could have chosen to sit or lay anywhere. The Peterson vacation home had so many rooms, yet he chose mine to take over and claim.
My guest room wasn’t too far away from his. Did he think this was his room, somehow? Well, I meant, technically, every room in this mansion was his…