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She turns to the sink and starts running herself a glass of water, and I watch her from behind thinking through everything that I know about her so far. I know where she’s from and how polishedthat type of environment probably is, so maybe thisisher first time being around a man like me.
She keeps sipping at her drink but she turns her head over her shoulder so that she can look at me, her hair a little matted against her neck from last night’s cold sweats. We’re back to almost the exact same position that we were in last night, only she seems perkier this morning with a sparkle in her eyes. Her eyes flicker down my torso making me involuntarily flex and still, and I swear she arches back a little, hiding her face behind her shoulder so that I can’t see her naughty little smile.
I’m damn well tempted to get my hands around her waist, rub her back until it’s nice and warm, and then murmur into her neck that maybe we should finish what we started. But I know that that thought is coming directly from my sac, without an ounce of common sense in sight.
You know what else could be coming from my sac?
I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to alleviate the energy that’s getting hotter and faster as it courses through my body. Jesus, bringing her here was a bad idea. Did she really say that I would “make her feel better” if I gave it to her last night? Whilst she’s literally ill?
I rub a hand over my mouth, not believing my own brain.
She finishes her drink and then faces me fully, eyes on her socks because the inappropriateness of our actions,especiallyafter that surreal 3a.m. champagne fantasy last night, is starting to hit home. I might be the boss at the Pine Hills site but Harper Ray is practically my employer. That would be a legal nightmare as is, but add in the fact that I’ve got so much riding on keeping Ray Corp sweet and then this is suddenly even more serious. I wouldn’t be exactly shocked if it turned out that Harper’s mom didn’t like the idea of her employees cosying up with her hot twenty-eight year old daughter.
Yeah, fine, I’m dying to ask her out again, but I don’t want to cross that line without a direct all-clear.
Restraining the urge, I change the topic completely.
“How’re you feeling this morning?” I ask her, and my eyes stray over to the bagels. I don’t know about Harper but I sure as hell need to refuel. “Do you think you could handle some plain foods today? Or are we keeping to having just fluids for now?”
“Uh…”
I look down to see her panting up against the sink, eyes raking all over my exposed pecs, and then the swollen muscles of my abs. Damn baby. I can’t remember a single instance in my life where I’ve been so keen for a woman, and if she’s not hiding the attraction that’s happening here anymore then I’m not going to either.
I step a little closer and watch as her breathing catches in her throat, one hand pulling at a soft blonde curl and the other smoothing out the creases in her top. My eyes slip down her neck and land right on those tits, small and soft under the cotton of her shirt. Her nipples are pebbled into small hard peaks and I rake my teeth over my lip, wanting those gorgeous curves in my mouth this damn second.
But then I notice that her shirt is clinging to her belly, meaning that she’s sweat so hard that her top is literally soaked, and it’s the slap across the face that I damn well needed. I back up and nod my head at her top. She looks down at it and tries to peel it off her abdomen.
“We need to get you a clean shirt,” I say hoarsely. I’m trying to act like a gentleman but the fact of the matter is that I know exactly where this is going. Harper stripping in my bedroom, followed by one of my shirts getting hands-on with her tits. I should be so fucking lucky. “You wanna use one of mine?” I ask. “Or,” I swallow hard, “I could drive back to Pine Hills and get some of your stuff. Bring you some tops of your own.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t need to do that, but thank you. I’d borrow one of yours, if you… if you really don’t mind.”
I really,reallydon’t mind. We walk back upstairs into my bedroom, the sheets still fluffed up from where she left them a couple of minutes ago. Keen to not get distracted I head straight for the drawer where I store my shirts and I pull out whatever’s on the top. I unfold it and see that it’s one of the work tops that I didn’t pack for the motel so I hold it up for her, waiting out a yes or a no.
“Oh, sure, yeah, that’s great.” She’s breathing heavy and I can’t tell if it’s because of how exerted she is from being sick last night or if it’s because she wants my name scraping over her chest as badly as I do.
I place it gently on the bed and then give her a wide berth as I make my way out of the room. I turn slightly and catch her rubbing her thumb over the fabric.
“I’ll get another drink ready for you but, uh, come down whenever you’re ready. Or just call for me. Either works.”
She laughs a little, scrunching her nose. “I’ve never been so hydrated in my life,” she jokes.
My mouth ticks up slightly, giving her almost a half-smile, but then I think about howdehydratedshe had to have been last night to start offering herself up to me and the smile vanishes as quickly as it came. She must’ve been out of her mind.
Orwasshe? Because, now that I think about it, she seemed just as interested this morning.
It’s the lack of food, I tell myself as I turn and start heading down the stairs.She’s not functioning properly because she doesn’t have the right nutrients in her system.
When I reach the kitchen I slice up a bagel and slot it in the toaster, but my mind is completely distracted. All of my thoughts are upstairs, in my bedroom, where Harper’s stripping down with the door still ajar. I swallow and run a hand down the back of my neck.
We’re going to have to talk about this – whatever “this” is. The flirting, the taunting… I need to know what her intentions are, I need to know if she’s as into me as I’m into her, and I need to know it yesterday.
I pop up my bagel before it chars, topping it with some spread and wolfing it faster than I should. My eyes flick incessantly up the staircase, wondering if and when Harper’s going to show herself. I’m so hungry to see her in my work shirt that I scarf down another bagel.
I’m about to go up there and check on her when there’s a knock at the front door. I free the latch, pull it open, and then I’m met with the sight of the neighbourhood’s delivery guy giving me a quick wave from halfway down my drive, a small brown box sitting on the welcome mat. I spot the sender’s name on the side of the cardboard and my cheek ticks up a little.
I give him a jerk of my chin, and then collect the package and bring it inside.
I get a welcome of my own.
