She looks up, startled, those gorgeous big brown eyes widening. “Oh. Good morning. I didn't expect you to be right there.”
“I was...” What? Waiting for you? Watching for your car like a creep? “Getting coffee. Want some?”
“Sure. Thank you.” She sets down her supplies and follows me.
I head into the kitchen and make her cup the way she takes it. Regular coffee, not espresso, with cream and no sugar. I’m a man who takes notice of everything, so it’s natural that I know that.
When I hand it to her, our fingers brush, and I feel an electric shock of awareness. Her eyes flick to mine, and I wonder if she felt it too.
“You're up early,” she says, cradling the cup.
“Can't sleep in. Never could.”
“Me neither. I'm always up by seven, even on days off.” She smiles, and it does something to me. It makes my chest feel too tight, but not in the alarming I’m having a panic attack or about to drop dead way that landed me here in the first place.
She sips the coffee, and her smile grows. “My mom says I'm too busy, that I should be sleeping till noon and enjoying a lazy day when I can.”
Before I would have thought that was asinine advice. There’s only so many hours in the day to get everything done. The day is meant to be seized, not wasted lazing about in bed. Now I’m thinking there’s something to be said for slowing down, especially spending time in bed when there’s someone to spend it with. I swallow hard at the mental image of her in my bed gazing up at me as I move over her body.
Clearing my throat, I break eye contact. “Your mom sounds wise.”
“She is. Most of the time.” She looks around. “So, what's on the agenda for you today? More resting?”
I huff a laugh. “Supposedly. Though I'm not very good at it.”
Her lips pinch together, and it makes me frown as I like her plump pink lips smiling much more.
“What would you normally be doing? On a Tuesday morning?” she asks.
I glance down at my coffee. “In the office by seven. Back-to-back meetings until noon. Working lunch. More meetings. Leave around eight or nine, take work home.” I shrug and meet her horrified gaze. “Every day. Usually weekends too.”
Her lips part as she shakes her head, and her short ponytail bobs. “That sounds... exhausting.”
“It was my normal,” I say, feeling a tad defensive.
“No wonder it almost killed you,” she says quietly, no doubt having heard that from the cabin’s owner, Mrs. Avery.
The words hit harder than they should. “Yes. It did.”
She's quiet for a moment, then sets down her coffee. “Well, how about I get started on breakfast- “
I cut her off. “No need.”
Her brows shoot up. “You already ate?”
“Not hungry.”
Jennifer stares at me for a long moment and then nods. “Okay, I'll get started cleaning and will try not to make too much noise. You should do something relaxing. Read a book. Sit on the deck. Take a nap.”
It’s barely after eight in the morning. My lips curl. “I don't nap.”
“Maybe you should learn.” She smiles again, and my gaze drops to her mouth. Suddenly, and impulsively, I want to do something insane and completely out of character, like pull her close and find out if she tastes as sweet as she looks.
Instead, I go to the couch and pick up the book I'd abandoned earlier. It’s some thriller my assistant bought me that’s not at all thrilling. Especially not compared to the woman occupying my space. I pretend to read while subtly watching Jennifer move through the cabin.
She hums while she works. Soft, tuneless little sounds that shouldn't be distracting but are. She's thorough, careful with my things that I’ve discarded, and she has this way of moving that's graceful despite her lugging a vacuum and a caddy full of supplies around.
I notice the way her faded jeans hug her hips and lovingly cup her pert ass in ways that has my fingers tightening up with the urge to do some touching of my own. My mouth goes dry when her pale green t-shirt rides up slightly when she reaches for something high, giving me a peek at a sliver of creamy white skin. It shouldn’t be arousing, that tiny bit of skin, yet somehow it is and I shift on the couch.
