“Oh, for crying out loud, have you never cleaneda floor?”
He looked up and gave her a smirk.
She handed him the towel. “You’d better dry yourself a bit.”
The hessian bag, now empty of wood, should make a useable mop. As she crouched down to try, she glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye—a movement, a flash of golden skin.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to dry myself,” he said halfway through pulling his wet polo shirt above his head. Dear God, even this simple movement wastoo sexy.
“There is a bathroom at the back,” she said, quickly avertingher gaze.
While he was gone, doing God only knew what with his body—and she was doing her best not to imagine—she focussed on the hessian-mop in her hand. She cleaned most of the floor of grime and rubbish. But no sooner had she finished than more water puddled under the holes in the ceiling.
At least the space near the fire wasn’t under any of the leaks. Someone had tiled a small circle in front of the grate, probably for a cosy hearth rug in far-gone days. Now the bare slates, an inch higher than the rest of the floor, were the only dry part of the cottage.
She washed her hands in the kitchen sink and refilled her water bottle. One of the cupboards under the counter revealed a few empty tins which would do to catch rain drops.
There was also a large folded blanket which seemed surprisingly clean.
She went to the bathroom door, which was ajar, and knocked while looking the other way. “You can wear this until your clothes dry.”
“Thanks.” His naked arm, biceps outlined under his skin, reached through the door and took the blanket. “Wait,” he said.
She tried not to think about her underwear hanging in the bathroom. A moment later, his arm reached out again with the towel. “Better hang this over the fire.” The man had beautiful arms. There were smooth brown hairs from wrist to elbow, but almost none on his upper arm. Was it this same arm which had held her that night on the walk home? And way back in London after theaccident?
“Millie?” he called, waving the towel. She took it, unable to speak, and walked away from the bathroom door and the manbehind it.
Replacement strategy. She needed a safe picture to replace the dangerous one she’d just left behind.
She spread the towel on the floor in front of the fire and tried to imagine furniture. The kitchen and front room would be a perfect café. She tried to make her mind focus on small wooden tables, benches. Paint them yellow and lilac, which would look beautiful together. Paint the chairs green, orange, purple and fuchsia; make the café look like a flower garden. And outside the door, in the sun, there could be little pots with herbs.
She placed the empty tins under the worst of the leaks in the back room. The rain drops tinkled and pinged like mismatched xylophones. It was already cold and getting colder as the storm raged outside.
She knelt on the towel in front of the fire and held her hands over the flames. A thin cotton vest might have been fine for a private swim and a sunbathe, but it was wholly inadequate at night with a chill wind blowing in from the sea.
Goose bumps rose on her arms and legs. She tried to rub some warmth into them when, suddenly, she felt a blanket drapeover her.
“You look cold,” George said, standing behind her in nothing but a pair of form-fitting black boxer briefs.
She looked away but not before her eyes caught a glimpse of wide shoulders and a scattering of brown hair—a dark shadow like a blurred cross over his chest and down towards his flat stomach.
Oh God, until recently, I thought his arms were my biggest problem.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
Of course he wasn’t fine. But pneumonia, George decided, was easier than trying to keep his eyes off Millie’s naked legs—nicely shaped with velvety skin. Covering her with a blanket was a mercy to him.
If only the bloody-minded woman wouldcooperate.
“Absolutely not!” She took the blanket off and held it up towards him.
His mouth went dry. Whatever that ridiculous skimpy cotton top was supposed to be, it showed more than it hid.
He should close his eyes, shift his gaze, but he couldn’t. She looked delicious. Firelight caught tiny golden hairs on her sun-kissed skin. He was grateful, from the bottom of his heart, that she didn’t look back at him; he had nothing to hide his body’sreaction.
