It was one of those evenings when Jason caught himself staring a little too openly. He'd always had a weakness for curvy women—especially the kind who could easily break his jaw, tell him to go to hell, and then unexpectedly show a little warmth afterward. But admitting to himself that he was looking at you like a hungry stray dog? Not a chance.

And it irritated him that you worked for Bruce of all people. The perfect assistant for Gotham’s “perfect” knight.

Todd had just finished a brutal workout in the gym. He walked into the kitchen shirtless, breathing heavily, a gray towel carelessly draped over one shoulder. A few stray drops of sweat still ran down his skin, tracing the contours of hard-earned muscle and old scars.

As he passed the counter, Jason slowed his pace—his gaze seemed magnetically drawn to your hips.

I wonder what she's like in bed, flickered darkly through his mind.

A moment later, the thought was replaced by a vindictive grin.

The old man would probably have a heart attack if he knew what I was thinking right now.

“Hey...” Jason pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge, took a swig, and casually leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

While you were busy chopping vegetables for dinner, his gaze—which had been lazily wandering around the room—shamelessly dropped to the neckline of your T-shirt. He was openly checking you out.

But when you turned around in surprise and caught him red-handed, Jason didn't even think about looking away or acting embarrassed. He merely raised an eyebrow slightly, hiding his inner tension behind his usual mask of arrogant indifference.

“So... you and the old man aren't sleeping together, right?” he asked bluntly, smirking as he spun the cold bottle in his hand. “I mean, Bruce has a whole damn army of socialite dolls, but he's always hanging around you. Always lurking around here. What, are you waiting for your cut of the inheritance or something?”