When the door swung open, Ava Langley was greeted by a naked torso.
Not just any old torso, but a sculpted, six-pack-ab masterpiece. She blinked once. Then again. And once more for good measure. Surely, no man answered his front door dressed in nothing but a towel. Yet, there he was—wearing a single white, fluffy towel, slung low on his hips, exposing just enough to make her brain short-circuit.
Leaning against the doorframe, his tall, lean, muscular body radiated effortless confidence. Ava noticed everything—because how could she not? The deep grooves lining his abs, the defined cut of his arms, the slight glisten of moisture across his skin as if he'd just stepped out of a steamy shower. Any woman would want him in her bed. Including her.
Not that she had ever "had" a man in her bed. Because, unfortunately, she was still a virgin. Twenty-nine years old and completely, painfully untouched.
Her gaze finally traveled upward, locking on his face. And her heart responded like a drum solo, thumping hard against her ribs, matching the thumping bass of the music playing somewhere inside his mansion.
Her breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet of scarlet roses she carried, and heat bloomed across her cheeks, rivaling the rich red petals.
She wasn't a florist. Or a delivery girl. The real florist was her best friend, Sienna Brooks, and the delivery driver was out with the flu. So, being the incredibly supportive friend she was, Ava had offered to step in. Sienna had been swamped preparing for Valentine's Day orders, which were due tomorrow.
Ava had no plans to play flower courier today. But a last-minute plea and the promise of free roses—a weakness of hers—had left her standing here. On the steps of 99 Summerson Street in Herne Bay, one of Auckland's wealthiest neighborhoods.
And now, instead of focusing on her task, her brain was busy cataloging every delicious inch of the half-naked man in front of her.
Oh, wow.
That slightly damp, dirty-blond hair. The way it caught the sunlight and seemed to shimmer gold. His face—angular, masculine, and perfectly symmetrical, as though the gods had taken their sweet time sculpting him.
Ava's heart was still drumming at full speed, and she felt almost dizzy, like she'd run a marathon without moving.
It wasn't like she hadn't seen a naked male body before. Technically, her nephew Jamie counted—during bath time as a toddler. But this was different. This was a man. A fully grown, incredibly well-built, testosterone-drenched man.
The kind she definitely hadn't encountered before.
Those powerful arms. That sharp V-line dipping beneath the towel. Her gaze got stuck there a little too long.
"Can I help you?"
The deep, slightly husky voice snapped her out of her trance. Ava blinked hard, trying to reboot her brain, only to find herself staring again.
She had completely forgotten her mission. Her throat felt dry, and when she tried to speak, all she managed was a strangled, "Umm."
Brilliant.
Giving up on words, she thrust the bouquet of roses toward him with all the grace of a malfunctioning robot.
The man blinked, clearly surprised by the sudden gesture. He took a half-step back, eyeing her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
"So… sorry," she croaked, finally finding her voice. Even though it sounded like she'd swallowed a handful of sandpaper.
His lips curved slightly, and dear heaven, that smile could have melted glaciers.
"No worries," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "Just a little startled, that's all."
That voice. Like velvet and whiskey.
Before Ava could form another coherent thought, a singsong voice floated from inside the house.
"Grayson, what's taking so long? Come back to bed."
Ava's stomach plummeted. Of course, a man this gorgeous would have company. Probably some stunning model or actress sprawled across silk sheets, waiting for him to return.
Grayson.
So this was "Grayson Blackwood", the billionaire playboy everyone whispered about.
Grayson threw a smile over his shoulder toward the mysterious voice and called back, "I'll be there in a minute."
When he turned back to her, the shift was subtle—but Ava noticed it. His blue eyes weren't so soft anymore. That playful sparkle had transformed into something more… dangerous.
Predatory.
His grin widened, revealing perfect white teeth, but there was a devilish tilt to it now, like he'd just figured out how much power he had over her.
Playboy alert.
Every instinct screamed at her to back away, but before she could react, Grayson's fingers curled around the bouquet—trapping her hands beneath his.
"Let… let go," she stammered, struggling against his surprisingly strong grip.
He just shook his head, that wicked grin never wavering. "Nope."
Ava tried to yank her hands back, but it was like trying to wrestle with steel clamps.
"Seriously," she hissed, face flushing deeper. "Let go."
Suddenly, he did. The abruptness nearly made her stumble backward.
"Why are you—"
"You like what you see?" he interrupted, striking an exaggerated pose, flexing slightly as if he were centerfold material for GQ.
Ava's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. "Excuse me?"
Grayson's grin widened. "Obviously, you're here for me. I mean, roses? On Valentine's Eve? If you wanted my attention, you've got it, sweetheart."
Arrogant. Smug. Infuriating.
Ava's blush deepened, but this time it wasn't from attraction—it was pure mortification mixed with irritation.
"The roses aren't for you," she snapped, shoving the bouquet back into his chest, which—ugh—was still annoyingly perfect.
"Oh?" He cocked a brow, clearly enjoying himself.
"They're for… whoever is inside," she said, trying not to think about the woman calling him back to bed.
Grayson leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You sure? Because I'm getting serious "'I can't stop thinking about you'" vibes here."
Ava took a step back, clutching the now-empty delivery slip. "You wish. Just sign for the flowers, and I'll be out of your way."
He took the slip from her, scrawling his signature with a flourish.
"There. All set."
Ava snatched the paper back, spun on her heel, and marched down the steps, silently cursing both herself and Grayson Blackwood's unfairly perfect everything.
As she reached the gate, his voice called after her, teasing as ever.
"See you around, Rose Girl."
Oh, hell no.