“I wasn’t a climber. I always figured I’d fall, then Grandpa would hear me, and I’d be in trouble. At least if I went down the stairs, I could tell him I was going for a walk or some such thing, but he never caught me.”
“Who were you sneaking to meet?”
“I used to paint. Night scenes. And I’d go stand on the corner by your parents’ house waiting to see you.”
He stopped at the top of the stairs and pulled her next to him. “You were stalking me?”
“Yep. Right out in the open. I was naïve and infatuated.” She followed him into their bedroom. She gave herself a mental pat for spending twenty minutes this afternoon putting her clothes to right, making the bed, and vacuuming. She simply closed the door on her painting room across the hall. He never said anything, but she knew there were times when her disarray in the house bothered him. The man was more precise with hisclothes, work gear, and possessions than she was. They all had a place and he kept them there.
He turned around by the bed but made no comment on the room. “Like you stalked me today?” He untied and shed his boots.
“Today? I never saw you today.” Dammit. The man had radar.
“You weren’t in town?”
“Yes, I was in town. Clem’s for food, stopped at Sal’s Grocery and the pharmacy, and I went by your parents’ house to check their leftover decorations because Slade’s was almost out of the good stuff.”
He released her hand and went to his dresser. His pockets emptied, his duty belt came off, and he stretched to hang it on his closet door. “I could have sworn I saw you by the high school and again by Mrs. Heigl’s. Had calls both those places.”
“Nope, not me.” She hoped her face stayed neutral with interest, but he still had suspicious eyes.
He raised a brow, not challenging her while stripping off his shirt. Whoa. This man. Summer’s heat factor rose, flushing her body with tingles. The warmth of him within her reach? Better than a chocolate binge, painting, and just about anything else. She struggled to contain the wash of lust, wanting to stay focused on her plan.
The man had muscles and knew how to use them – even when he didn’t know the sexiness of his moves slayed her. His white T-shirt stripped, he tossed both shirts into the laundry basket. The expanse of bare skin begging to be touched jammed the air in her lungs. Maybe a little deviation from the plan.
“You’re staring again.” Tom grinned at her and unbuttoned his pants.
“No, you’re teasing me.”
“I don’t tease. I’m deadly serious. Especially when it involves getting naked with you.”
She agreed with the sentiment and stepped closer.
“I need a shower.” He sat on the edge of the bed to lift off his pants and remove his socks. He pulled off his watch and laid it on the table by the bed.
Summer registered his slumped, tired shoulders and pulled her red top off leaving her in a black camisole and black yoga pants. She got on her knees, scooting across the bed behind him, and dug firm fingers into his neck and shoulders. He twisted and stretched his tall frame across their bed, settling on his stomach with his head pillowed on his arms. He sighed deeply.
“Relax, honey,” she whispered, shifting to straddle him. “We’ll smooth out your long day.”
“With those hands, I’ll let you do all the smoothing you’ve want. Anywhere you want.”
She stifled the idea of finding her favorite piece of his anatomy. Instead, she leaned for lotion then worked her hands over every muscle group in his neck, shoulders, and back. The light citrus scent flowed over her. Each muscle stayed tight and uncooperative, forcing her to use a firmer massage.
She lost track of time, finally leaning in to kiss the back of his neck. “How does that feel, honey?”
He didn’t answer, and she bent to see his face. Only a part of his cheek and one eye showed, and it was closed.
He was asleep and lightly snoring!
She shifted so her weight was on his upper thighs and debated waking him. But he’d finally relaxed, and the man had worked doubles the last three days. Taking pity, she carefully moved from him. He’d fallen asleep without pulling the covers all the way back.
A bit peeved she studied him. How many nights had she been in hotel rooms or in San Francisco and had to contentherself with a bedtime phone conversation that was in no way satisfactory? Too many.
She got off the bed and hurried downstairs to lock the front door, turn off lights, and get a glass of water. She skipped back upstairs balancing her drink, one part hoping he’d wake. The other part knew he needed sleep. She wanted to be close. In fact, she’d been obsessed with being close to him even though they were adjusting again to nightly sleeping with each other. She was a bed hog, and he tended to stay in his spot.
She stepped quietly into the room and stopped at the end of the bed. The wind had risen. The windows rattled. There would be more rain by morning according to the forecast. She rummaged in the closet for the green and white checkered comforter her grandmother made and spread it over him. In the bathroom, she took her time to wash her face and do her normal routine. She shimmied into her white nightshirt, took a moment to put her clothes in the hamper, and flicked off all the lights except her small bed light. Tom slept on, unaware.
She bit her lip and couldn’t stop herself from running a finger over the middle of his bare back. His skin was warm and supple, and dang if she didn’t want to kiss him from head to toe. He’d be ninety and she’d still want to kiss, hug, and lick the man.
