Who Knew My Assigned Mechanic Husband Was a Big Shot? novel Chapter 13

She stood rooted by her door, deciding to wait for him to disappear into his room before making her move to the laundry.

Instead, he closed the distance between them with a casual, predatory grace.

Sloane had to suck in a deep breath, forcing an air of absolute clinical detachment, as if a half-naked man with an eight-pack was something she dealt with daily.

Honestly, as a doctor, she had seen plenty of bodies on the operating table—though none quite like this.

"Doing laundry? Mind throwing mine in with yours?" Logan asked, holding out a basket of his work clothes.

There was only one washing machine in the apartment, so it made logical sense.

Sloane kept her eyes strictly locked on the basket, taking it from him with a stiff nod.

"Appreciate it," Logan said easily, turning back toward his bedroom.

Sloane's gaze involuntarily locked onto his retreating figure.

The impossibly broad expanse of his muscular back was genuinely breathtaking.

Realizing her heart rate was spiking again, she practically sprinted to the balcony to violently shove the clothes into the drum just to keep her hands busy.

Sloane killed time in the living room playing her gem-matching game, intending to hang the clothes up before going to sleep.

However, when Logan stepped out of his room later, he found her curled up on the sofa, fast asleep.

He paused by the couch, taking a quiet moment to study her resting face.

Sloane possessed a naturally stunning, elegant bone structure. When she wasn't smiling, she radiated a cool, untouchable aura—like a crisp autumn morning. But when she did smile, a sweet, girl-next-door charm broke through.

Her features were perfectly balanced, giving her an effortless, intellectual beauty.

Her interactions with him were always strictly guarded, yet she occasionally let slip brief, unguarded flashes of pure, unfiltered innocence.

If they were to have a child... his grandmother would undoubtedly adore the kid.

Seeing as she was completely out, he decided to handle the laundry himself.

He pulled the damp clothes from the machine.

The very first thing his fingers snagged was a tiny, delicate pair of lace underwear.

It was insanely sheer, feeling virtually weightless in his large palm.

He carefully clipped it to a hanger and placed it on the rack.

Next up was her bra.

How exactly was he supposed to hang this?

If he draped it over the bar, it might not dry properly; if he hung it by the straps, it kept sliding off. He fumbled with the delicate fabric for an embarrassingly long time before finally securing it.

Laundry finished, Logan shot another glance at the sleeping woman on the couch.

Should he carry her to bed?

If she woke up mid-transit, she'd probably think he was some kind of creep trying to grope her.

Opting for the safe route, he grabbed a thick blanket from his room and draped it securely over her shoulders.

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