since then—thanks to her vaccination shots, a deworming tablet, a healthier diet and regular walks—she had found a new lease on life. And a mischievous streak a mile wide. In fact, it was safe to say, she was hell on four legs.
The huffing sound she made as she fled through the kitchen and made a beeline for the housekeeper’s quarters definitely sounded like mocking laughter to his ears.
In the six days since their poolside encounter, Miles and Charity Cole had fallen into a rigid, formal routine. It was not conducive to a relaxing, healing atmosphere, and Miles tried his damnedest to steer clear of her.
He couldn’t say that avoiding her helped. Not when his every waking moment, and most of his sleeping ones, were filled with recollections of her rising from that pool like a fucking fertility goddess.
He hadn’t been so perpetually horny and frustrated since his early teens, and it was driving him insane. He had tried to distract himself with other things. Focused on getting fit, training Stormy and—despite Amos’s protestations—hard physical labor like trimming the yellowwood in the back yard and chopping wood for fire.
Stormy darted through the ajar door leading to Charity’s rooms, and Miles’s pursuit came to an abrupt halt. It was after nine, she usually retired to her side of the house by eight-thirty. Miles had never, ever infringed on her privacy before. In fact, he had no idea what her rooms looked like.
He stared at the warm light spilling from the doorway into the dark hallway and cocked his head, listening for her inevitable reprimand of Stormy for the intrusion.
She hadn’t warmed to the friendly pup, rarely acknowledging the dog’s presence or referring to her by name. Miles figured she wasn’t a dog person. He couldn’t imagine her being very impressed with Stormy’s uninvited presence in her rooms. He could hear the faint sounds of music and talking. The television perhaps?
Shit. What if Stormy peed in Charity’s slippers or something similarly horrid?
Miles swore beneath his breath. He wondered if he could sneak in, grab the pup, and sneak back out without being spotted?
He glanced down at himself. He had been in the en suite, stripping for his shower, when he had returned to his room for a fresh razor blade. He had just caught a glimpse of Stormy—the sneak—dashing off with his clean briefs in her mouth, and immediately gave chase. Consequently, he was barefoot and wearing nothing but his unbuttoned jeans. Not quite dressed for company, and he couldn’t imagine what his housekeeper would say if he entered her private quarters naked but for a pair of low riding jeans.
Still, who knew what Stormy was getting up to in there? He shook his head and, before he even realized his mind had been made up, his feet were carrying him toward the door. He flattened his palm against the wood and slowly pushed it open. The well-oiled hinges didn’t make a sound and he popped his head around to do a quick recon of the area. The door opened into a cozy open-plan kitchen and living room. Charity was seated at the round dining table, her back to the door, laptop open and books spread out in front of her. His eyes darted around the dimly lit room, but Stormy was nowhere in sight.
That was when he realized that Charity was talking. Her voice was a gentle hum against the backdrop of the jazzy music coming from her laptop, and he strained to hear what she was saying.
“…so much trouble. I appreciate it, honestly, but you have to stop bringing me these gifts. What would Miles say if he knew of your infidelity?”
“She’s done this before?” He couldn’t prevent himself from uttering the incredulous question and, sure enough, at the sound of his voice, Stormy’s furry little head popped up over the back of Charity’s sofa.
As for the woman herself? She gasped in horror, shoved to her feet, and swiveled around to face him.
She was wearing fuzzy slippers and a thick, comfy looking robe. A pink robe. The soft, feminine color was flattering against her exquisite brown skin. Her hair was bound in a loose, soft braid that framed the oval of her face attractively.
She was absolutely stunning.
She had one hand clutched at the neck of her robe, holding the two sides protectively closed, while she stared at him through wide, shocked eyes.
“M-Mr. Hollingsworth!”
“Uh uh, none of that now, Mrs. Cole. You’re so busted! Don’t think I didn’t overhear you referring to