I could even ask him to be my date to my cousin’s wedding in a week. The idea grips me, spinning out dizzy possibilities.
A whole day with Mr. Grayson—his gray eyes, his charisma, the force of his personality—all focused on me. Only me.
“Jasmine? You okay?” he says, stilling on the other side of the giant quartz island.
I nod, then clear my throat. “Good workout?” I want to kick myself for the inane question.
“Something smells incredible,” he says, voice still rough with post-workout rasp. The atoms in the space around us seem torearrange themselves as he walks toward me with that slow, easy gait. His silver eyes shine as they fall on the spread I’ve laid out. “You’re ruining me, Jasmine. For any other woman.”
The words land between us like heat missiles, shifting the balance in the expansive, sun-streaked room.
I jerk my head up.
His gaze finds mine, a shocked glint in it. I hold it, awareness pooling like molten liquid in my lower belly. I want to say something provocative. At least remotely banter-y. Nothing rises to my lips.
A dark flush streaks his sharp cheekbones before he cuts eye contact. “I mean that you spoil me and Sophie endlessly, and we shamelessly take advantage of you. Please tell me I pay you enough for all the things you do around here.” The shift to casual is jarring, but he pushes on, as if determined to ignore what he said. As if he will put those words,and me, back into the box where I should be. “Remind me, did we ever renew your employment contract at the beginning of the year?”
As if his steel-trap mind could ever forget. As if his innate sense of honor would let him sleep a wink if he wasn’t paying me more than I deserve.
“Yes, Mr. Grayson,” I say robotically, a spark of anger in my belly. “You pay me more than enough. Along with free food and shelter and the transportation allowance you give me. If anything, the world might claim I’m the one taking advantage of you.”
His head jerks up, and again, his gaze holds mine. This time, it drills into me, as if he’s noted the sarcasm in my words. As if he means to peel away the layers to see the heart of me—the core of me that burns for his touch.
I lift my chin, ready to face whatever he throws at me.
“Why did I not know that you hide all this sass?” he says softly, dispersing the tension with his smile.
It’s like looking at the glorious sun.
I blink and stare more, frustration and desire vying for attention.
There’s curiosity in his question, but he’s hidden it beneath teasing. I latch onto it like a lifeline, refusing to lose another round to his charm or my lack of femme-fatale skills.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
I fold my arms under my suddenly achy breasts just as his gaze glides over my mouth before jerking up.
He rounds the island and casually steals a muffin.
And just like that, he’s close. Too close.
Heat radiates off his skin, and my own prickles in response. His scent—clean sweat, pine, and something darker, distinctly him—wraps around me like a trap.
My belly does a traitorous little slosh, low and needy, and I swear I can feel my pulse in places I shouldn’t think of in front of him.
I want to press my lips to the corded column of his throat and lick him up, to wrap my arms around his neck and grind against him. To bury my face in his chest and whisper all the words I say to myself in the night.
“What I know is already dangerous enough for me,” he says, patting his abs with a dramatic sigh. “If I’m not careful, you’ll turn me into a paunchy old geezer with all these sweet treats.”
I tap his knuckles with the spatula. “Hardly. You’re the sexiest man I know.” My face ignites. “For a man approaching mid-forties, I mean. Some of my professors at the community college are your age—one has a stained tie collection, another coughs like a dying car engine. Compared to them, you are like a—”
His arms fold onto the cool island, inches from where I grip it. “What?”
“A sophisticated silver fox,” I say, blood humming in my ears. “Some girls even go for that kind of thing.”
The air thickens between us. The radio hums a sultry ballad, something acoustic and aching.
He’s standing just a breath away, our bodies nearly brushing. If I leaned forward half an inch, I’d feel his chest against mine. And for a second, I imagine what it would feel like if he held me against that rock-hard chest. Stole a sweaty, morning kiss from me.
