Then my eyes landed back on that view again just to confirm what I’d seen, my cock hardening in my jeans.
Yep. Her nipples were hard, pressing against the wet layers of silk and lace straining towards me.
Fuck meandmy life. Mallory still held a spell over me.
Forcing my eyes back to the problem at hand, I found the shutoff valve and cranked it closed, then pulled the wrench and a replacement coupling from my bag. The dripping stopped, and in the sudden silence the kitchen felt smaller.
“You fixed it?”
“Naw. Just turned off the water. Take this bucket and dump it,” I told her as I pulled it out from under the sink.
Damn it. The space under the sink was dark. I fished my flashlight out of my bag.
When Mallory came back I asked her, “Can you hold this for me?”
I handed her the flashlight, and she knelt down beside me on the damp tile as I maneuvered my shoulders into the tight cabinet space.
She aimed it at the pipe junction, as I tried to ignore the warmth of her body next to mine, her knee barely an inch from my hip. I reached up to loosen the old coupling, and my arm shifted.
That’s when my forearm grazed the soft swell of her breast through the wet fabric. She sucked in a quick breath but didn’t move away.
“Sorry,” I muttered, not looking at her.
“It’s fine,” she warbled back.
It wasnotfine.
Nothing about this was fine.
I worked the wrench with more focus than the job required, but the cabinet was narrow and she was so close.
Every time I adjusted my angle, some part of my arm brushed against her again, the curve of her breast yielding and warm even through the damp silk. I kept my jaw locked and my eyes on the pipe while I tried to think about literallyanythingother than the woman kneeling six inches away from me.
Mallory had always been my kryptonite.
“Hand me the new coupling,” I growled, and she pressed it into my palm.
Our fingers touched. The same current from the sidewalk surged through me, hot and immediate, and my grip tightened around her fingers before I caught myself and pulled away.
I was half-hard in her parents’ kitchen, lying on my back under the sink like a teenager with no self-control.
And all because this woman, someoneelse’swife, had brushed her fingers against mine.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper and finished seating the new coupling with hands that were not quite as steady as they should have been.
Then I slid out from under the cabinet and turned the valve back on. Water flowed clean. No drip.
“That should hold for another decade,” I rumbled, standing and wiping my hands on my jeans.
Mallory stood too.
“Thank you, Zane. Seriously. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m paying you for the house call and the parts.”
“No, you’renot. I’m not a plumber. I just wanted to help you out.”
