“So?” he asked.
“What?” I blinked, still lost in my own thoughts.
He was watching me, waiting for an answer.
“Right. Yeah. I can assign you one of the vacant cabins,” I said. “To work in. And for you to, um ... stay in.”
“Great. I’m good to go,” Sebastian said, adjusting the duffel on his shoulder.
I made a mental note that me knowing this bag so well wasn’t a great sign. Before I could overthink that, I motioned for him to follow. We cut across the gravel path and through the garden without talking, the late afternoon air swathed in sweet honeysuckle.
When we reached Sea Glass Cabin—cozy, quiet, with ocean view through paned windows and gauzy white curtains—I unlocked the door with my master key and stepped inside. “There’s Wi-Fi. Good light. And no one’s booked until next month.”
Sebastian set his bag down, glanced around once, then turned to me. “We were here once before.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat.
Sebastian gave me a side-smirk that edged into an amused, low chuckle, like he was silently teasing,forgot which man you brought here?
I wanted to say that in the last couple of years—since he started coming around more than three times a year—there’d hardly been anyone. Two or three, if that. But I just rolled my eyes and smiled back.
Leaning against the doorframe, I said instead, “So ... you just flew in without warning. How’d you know?”
He gave me a look that was frustratingly unreadable and calm. “You said you were fine. That usually means you’re not.”
My breath caught somewhere between my chest and my pride. “I did? I don’t remember saying that.”
“Might have sensed it.”
“You were already at the airport, weren’t you?”
That smirk again. Infuriating. Familiar.
“So you dropped everything based on a gut feeling?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t dropped anything. The current phase of the project I’m leading is mostly analysis. I can do that from anywhere. A load optimization review doesn’t require lab work.”
“Right.” I nodded like the professional lingo meant something to me. It didn’t. But the fact that he’d come all this way meant too much.
He looked at me, unfaltering and direct. “And it wasn’t a gut feeling.”
“Thanks, Sebastian.” My voice came out thick, choked with emotion.It’s nothing, I told myself. Any help right now would have moved me like that.
I left him to settle in and went back to the main house. Fifteen minutes later, I returned with a tray—wraps, a slice of pie, an organic soda, and silverware. He took it with a quiet “Thank you,” already mid-sketch on some 3D software on his laptop.
“I’ll come find you when I’ve got something,” he mumbled, lost in the math, barely glancing up.
I nodded and left, exhaling the second I was outside.
My fingers had itched to touch his arm when I set the tray down. I’d leaned forward instinctively to breathe him in. God. I hadn’t realized how much I missed his scent. The steady presence of him. His touch.
How come his touch, after this many years, wasn’t just familiar, but still igniting and searing? And the sex, instead of becoming stale, only grew hotter with time.
I shook it off.
He was here to help. And I was just relieved. And horny.
Nothing more.
