In front of him. Her body brushing against his with every shallow breath. And he had wanted to taste her. Any part of her. The soft skin beneath her ear had called to him…
And he had been so close to answering that call when Stormy’s cold nose on his leg had jerked him back to his senses.
He cupped himself now and gave his hardness a slow stroke through the soft cotton of his boxer briefs as he fantasized about that arse. Those nipples. Imagining those long, strong legs wrapped around him as he took her.
He exhaled on a slow, shuddering breath and slid his hand under his waistband. His palm found his hot, aching length and he fisted himself…
An enquiring whine made him jerk his hand back guiltily. His head whipped to where Stormy sat up in her crate beside the bed, watching him with a quizzical tilt of the head.
“Seriously? Do you have to stare?” No way he could continue with the pup’s curious, innocent gaze on him, and he shut his eyes for a moment, before resignedly sliding off the bed and striding to the bathroom for another long, icy shower.
His doctor would not be happy with him.
Two hours later, when Miles ventured to the kitchen for breakfast, he found the banquette table set as it had been every day since he’d informed Mrs. Cole of his intention to eat in the kitchen. Stormy trotted to her plastic bowl filled with chicken and rice, also diligently set out each morning, and began to snuffle her way through her breakfast.
Miles, meanwhile, sat and glared at what was on offer: one boiled egg, two slices of whole wheat toast, a cup of coffee, and a glass of orange juice.
What the fuck? Was this punishment for the pool? For being turned on by her?
Or…was she irked because he hadn’t taken her up on her unspoken offer? Because he had done the only sane thing and shifted her aside before either of them could act on what was simmering between them?
“Mrs. Cole?” He didn’t raise his voice, he knew she was close. He could still smell the fresh floral fragrance of her soap. It lingered in the kitchen and wrapped around him like a seductive cloak.
She didn’t magically materialize like an efficient wish-fulfilment fairy, and his frown deepened as irritation began to replace his initial confusion.
“Mrs. Cole!” he inserted some volume into his voice. But the added effort garnered no reward. The only sounds in the kitchen were Stormy’s disgusting wet chewing noises and the irritating tick of the yellowwood’s branches against the kitchen window. The weather was miserable as usual, overcast, cold and blustery. But at least it wasn’t raining. Yet.
“Mrs. Co—”
“What, for God’s sake?” Her exasperated, agitated voice, more than her bad-tempered question, startled him. And he found himself gaping as the door to the garage was shoved open to reveal a less-than-pristine Charity Cole. She was glaring at him; her hair coming out of its bun, her usually white apron smudged with…Was that grease?
“What’s going on?” he asked. He pushed to his feet and took a couple of steps toward her, but she hastily positioned herself behind the island. Clearly using it as a physical barrier between them.
Miles chose not to be offended by that and instead focused on her agitation. He was rather alarmed at the state of her. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have thought twice about the slight disarray, but for his housekeeper this seemed entirely uncharacteristic. He braced his palms on the counter and watched her intently.
“I was refueling the generator when a-a…” She clenched her fists, and he wondered if she was biting back a few choice curse words. He smothered a grin when she threw back her head dramatically and inhaled deeply before continuing in a fierce, controlled voice, “A spider crawled up my l-leg.”
She shuddered, and Miles valiantly fought back a chuckle as he watched her swat at her skirt again.
“Lucky spider.” He shouldn’t have said it. But the thought had popped into his head and out of his mouth without passing through his usual tact filter.
Her head flew up, and she nailed him with a glare so venomous he was shocked he didn’t simply wither on the spot.
“Why did you keep calling me? What was so damned urgent it couldn’t wait a few minutes?”
Well then. It seemed that Mrs. Cole had gone on a short break—probably still cowering from the spider somewhere—and had left this ill-tempered, sarcastic, fascinating