But there was something about watching him coming home after work that hit Isabella in a strange way. It wasn’t unpleasant, not in the slightest.
And he looked good.
Wearing a tan-colored, all-weather canvas jacket that was worn in enough to look good and fit him well, but not worn out, a deep blue button-up shirt, a pair of jeans that were also worn enough to fit (too well) but not worn out and boots.
He was the kind of man who made any clothing look good (too good) and Isabella noted this fact with inappropriate fascination at that juncture, since she should have been giving him what for.
She also noted that his hair was slightly disheveled, probably from the wind outside.
That looked good on him too (too good).
She watched mutely as he secured the door and turned out the lights.
Then she noticed as he walked through the vestibule and into the great room that his eyes were on her.
Her mind kicked into gear.
“Prentice, we have to talk,” she announced as he got close.
Too close.
Toe-to-toe with her, right in her space.
She decided to hold her ground so as not to appear weak.
This was the wrong decision.
Ignoring her announcement, his head started to come toward hers, his eyes on her mouth.
She contradicted her earlier decision and decided it was time to retreat. She leaned away and started to take a step back but, quick as a flash, he had a hand at her hip and his other was cupping the back of her head. He held her steady while his mouth descended to hers and he kissed her.
Hard, thorough, deep but not long.
He lifted his head and looked in her eyes.
The kiss was nice. Too nice.
“Did you save me some sponge?” he asked softly.
Her mind was adrift, still reeling from his kiss.
Sponge? What was he talking about?
“Wh… what?” she stammered, her focus on getting her heart to stop beating so fast and uncurling her toes.
“Sponge. Did you save me some?”
“In the kitchen,” she answered in a breathy voice.
His hands dropped and he moved away. Shrugging off his jacket, he threw it on an armchair and headed to the kitchen.
Stupidly, Isabella watched him.
Then her eyes moved to his jacket.
Really, she should ignore his jacket. It wasn’t harming anything, lying there on the armchair. There were other, more important things to do.
But she couldn’t ignore it. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be.