Lucas leaned against the doorframe, his smile practiced, polished, and entirely too bright for a Sunday morning.
"I hope I didn't wake you," he repeated, his voice smooth.
But his eyes betrayed him. They didn't stay on her face. They drifted down, dragging over the oversized white dress shirt she was wearing. The morning sun filtering through the hallway windows turned the cotton semi-translucent, and Aria wasn't wearing a bra.
Lucas stared at the outline of her breasts, his gaze heavy and blatant.
Aria crossed her arms over her chest, her expression shifting from surprise to annoyance.
"My eyes are up here, Nephew," she snapped. "What do you want?"
Lucas blinked, dragging his gaze back up, though a flush crept up his neck. "Right. Sorry. I just... I needed to talk to you. About work."
He held up the stack of papers.
