“Sounds good.”
“Bath towels are in the cabinet under the sink.”I wasn’t sure if I’d told him that the night before, but, if so, the repetition didn’t hurt.I tried to think of what else he’d need to know, but I was distracted by his ribs.They weren’t harshly delineated—he wasn’t that lean—but they provided an interesting contour to go with the swell of his pectorals and the faint concavity of his stomach.
“I made muffins,” I said quickly.“I’ll put eggs and bacon on when you’re ready to come downstairs—unless you’d rather not have eggs.I can understand that you might not, I mean, if you’re keeping tabs on your cholesterol level.Lots of men are, nowadays.And women.I can skip the eggs.It’d be no trouble.I have cottage cheese and yogurt and plenty of fruit—”
It was as if I ran out of breath, just like that.One minute I was talking, the next minute I wasn’t.Everything seemed caught up in my throat, because while I’d been babbling, Peter had slid his arm back on his forehead.Thus uncovered, his pale green eyes were focusing on me, holding my gaze captive, seeming to control the rest of me, as well.I couldn’t move.Nor could I think of anything but the intimate message being conveyed, not only by those eyes but by his pose.With his arm up high like that, the entire upper half of his body was lifted, extended, made to look larger and more imposing than ever.
I sucked in a sharp breath when his hand—the one that had been lying innocuously on the quilt—closed around my wrist.He tugged.I resisted.
“Sit,” he commanded quietly.His eyes continued to hold mine.
I shook my head.“Not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
I couldn’t think straight—at least, that was what I told myself when I didn’t offer an answer.I wasn’t about to say that his body excited mine too much for me to sit.I wasn’t about to say that I was frightened not of him, but of myself.
He tugged harder, and I found myself perched on the side of the bed smack by his hip.Wisely, from his point of view, he didn’t release my wrist; if he had, I’d surely have bolted, because my pulse was already running a frantic race and threatened to drag the rest of me with it.Rather, he anchored my cuffed hand to his chest.I curled my fingers into a fist, which was the least I could do to protect myself from the lure of his flesh.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.
“Why not?”
“I have things to do downstairs.”
“Like?”
I tried to think, but it was difficult, being so close to him.All my energy seemed sidetrackedin the effort to keep my breathing steady.I swallowed.“Like … see to the stew.”
“Stew takes care of itself.”
I knew that, but I’d hoped he wouldn’t.“Do you cook?”
“I used to.It was a matter of survival.”
The story he’d told at Swansy’s about his crude beginnings came back to me in a rush.It was hard to remember he’d been mortal once.“You must eat out a lot.”
“Enough.Sometimes it’s just grabbing takeout on the run.I’d do more cooking if I had the time.I like cooking.”
I couldn’t believe the conversation.Peter had just bolted out of a dead-deep sleep, it was eleven in the morning, he was lying in bed half naked—all naked, if the truth were told—smelling faintly but deliciously of sleep-warmed man, and we were talking about cooking?
I wished he’d lower his arm.There was something exquisitely intimate about a man’s armpit.Maybe it was that not many people saw it.Maybe it was simply that it was different; I shaved mine.The hair under his was soft and smooth, as was that sweet skin beneath it.
Funny, but I’d never paid particular heed to Adam’s armpits.Or maybe I had, but I’d forgotten.Six years was a long time.A long time.
“Are you disappointed in me?”came the deep voice that was not Adam’s but Peter’s.
My eyes flew to his.“For what?”
He shrugged with one shoulder.“I don’tknow.”But his eyes told me otherwise.In their probing green way, they said that I’d been looking entranced with his body one minute, then not so entranced the next.“Oversleeping, maybe,” he improvised when I said nothing.“You hired me to work, not to sleep the weekend away.”
How could I be angry when he’d obviously needed the sleep?“You were tired.”I tried to casually lift my hand away from his chest, but he wasn’t letting go.
“Leave it there.It feels good on my skin.”
“It shouldn’t be there.I shouldn’t be here.You’re right.I hired you to work, and now I’m distracting you.”
“You’re the boss.You can do what you want.”
