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“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, his eyes diverted and looking out at the expanse of the Pine Hills valley.
I’m not.He’s blocking me into my own bungalow and I don’t mind at all. I want to make myself a coffee, sit back and enjoy the view.
“I had no idea,” he says gruffly, and then he twists his head slightly so that we can lock our eyes together again. He looks like he’s in agony. Pleasure-pain agony.
“I, uh… I work here,” he continues, and for a split second I swear that his eyes finally stray south of my face. They flash to the hem of my towel, the tops of my thighs, and then he’s biting into his bottom lip and forcing his head back to face outside again.
He looks angry. Athimself. And it’s the hottest thing that I’ve ever seen.
I look down at my body, wondering how I can magic-spell some clothes onto myself. As much as I could enjoy this man taking in his fill of me, the extreme rise and fall of his chest as he rakes me with his gaze, I am aware of how inappropriate this is. I don’t know who he is. He doesn’t know who I am.I am fantasising about having an affair withhim. For all I know he really could be married. I try to scope out his left hand again but it’s now tucked safely under his bulging bicep.
Darn it.
He turns his head so that I can take in his profile, his eyes cast down, a promise that he isn’t looking. He licks his bottom lip and then says in a deep voice, “We aren’t supposed to have any residents on site until the New Year so I had no idea that anyone would be in here. I saw that some keys were missing and I needed to check it out. The room, I mean! I had to check out the room, not… I’m not checking out anything else.”
He swallows again and shifts the waistband of his pants. I lean against the wall to my right for support.
“Christ, this is unexpected. I’m sorry about all of this.” He sighs and wipes his wrist across his forehead. Is he sweating? That’d make two of us. “Could you please do me a favour and meet me in my office at some point this morning, so that we can discuss this? When you, uh…” He scratches at his jaw and his stubble makes rough scraping sounds. “When you’re… clothed,” he finishes, his skin dark and flushed.
Am I in heat or something? My throat has gone so rusty that I have to cough multiple times before I eventually manage to choke out a husky, “Okay.”
Apparently one word in my dulcet tone is truly the final straw. He rolls his lips into his mouth, nodding curtly once, and then he’s storming down the bungalow’s path with more intent than an American sniper.
I give my limbs a few seconds to recalibrate, and then I toe the door closed.
Oh dear. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I arrived at my new “job” and I already seem to have lost my mind. A Viking just broke into my bungalow and somehow I am seriously considering taking up his invitation to meet him in his office.
Wait – his office?
Did I just meet the guy who’s running the renovation? In my towel?
Did you not also just have your heart broken, your trust betrayed, and two years of your life pulled from underneath your feet?
It’s too much stimulus for me to take in. I kneel down on the foot of the bed, reach for the pillows so that I can clutch my bear, and then I hold it to my chest as I bow my head into the quilt. If I was to pray now I’m not sure what I would wish for.
I don’t want to look backwards but I’m not sure that I’m ready to take the first steps forwards either. And a guy isn’t going to fix that. Whether or not that man outside made my pulse pound like a jackhammer, he is simply another guy with no good intentions. I know what men think of me now: I’m a place-holder. A stop along the way.
I’m replaceable.
And it’s not just the guys, my brain reminds me.
As if I’d forgotten. My own flesh and blood couldn’t even find it in their hearts to respect me.
Just like that I’m back to my earlier sentiment. That man out there definitely needs to be kept at arm’s length. No more cutesy courtships. No more guys.
I still on the quilt, willing myself to be uninterested.
My body has other plans.
I pad quickly over to the window and then peek out between the curtains. A thrill zaps through my belly.
He may be halfway across the site but he’s still looking back at me.
Chapter 4
Mitch
Who the hell is that?
