Droplets of salt water cling to his chest and his washboard abs. His biceps bulge, veins snaking up muscular arms. Tiny rivulets trickle down his torso, tracing the lines of his physique down to the V of muscle that makes me wonder what exactly is under those skintight surfer pants.
I imagine the scent of ocean water lingering on his skin, the briny taste.
I want to lean forward and run my tongue along those salty droplets…
Mmm, salty droplets…
A frown mars his handsome face. “You look like you’re still in shock. Earth to Mandy.”
I am.“Nope. I’m totally not in shock.”
Salinger reaches out and pulls a twig out of my hair. “I took the corgi out with me. She didn’t really seem to want to get out of bed, but I think that dog spends too much time inside.”
“Pepper and I are indoor kids.”
“What kind of dog doesn’t want to walk?”
I run a hand through my tangled hair. I should be putting it in a protective style at night, but there are lots of things I should be doing, and it isn’t like I’m trying to go out there and find a man, regardless of what my mother thinks I should do.
“Thanks for taking her out. I was afraid she was going to ruin your floors.”
Salinger isn’t listening—he’s looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. Raw meat.
I look down then yelp and wrap my arms around myself.
He rubs his hand over his jaw. “Grass is still wet, huh.”
“Er, yes. Sorry about your shirt. I’ll wash it.” I don’t need a mirror to know my face is beet red.
“The staff will take care of it.” His face is almost kind. “How did you sleep?” The words are almost tender.
I don’t trust this. “Very well, thanks, and on that note, I think I’ve imposed enough on your hospitality.”
“Hardly. The staff get bored—they like house guests.” He turns and passes me, his bare arm almost brushing mine.
“I’m not a house guest—or I guess I am, but I’d like my houseguest status revoked,” I call, running after him.
“Mind the grass.”
Cursing, I hop over to the flagstones dotting the green lawn. “I have plans this weekend.”
Salinger looks over his shoulder at me. “Surely you can stay for breakfast before your plans?”
When he’s not angry or screaming at you, my boss is very yummy-looking.
Wiping off my feet, I follow him into the warm interior.
Salinger chats pleasantly as we make our way through the house, me with my arms firmly crossed over my chest, while he points out various expensive art pieces, the custom built-ins, the antique safe from a historic bank in town that he repurposed as a wet bar.
As we pass through one of the sitting rooms, Salinger picks up a Hermès blanket, one like all the Insta influencers have, and drapes it over my shoulders.
“I didn’t realize you were so basic.”
He laughs. The sound is rich and soothing like a perfectly hot foamy latte. “They just give these blankets to you for free if you spend enough money on saddles. I have a number of them. You can have one if you’d like.”
“You have horses?”
“I grew up riding.”
