Page 82 of A Really Bad Idea

“I can lay pipe pretty well.”

My eyes go straight to his torso and waist. “Clever.”

He gives a deep, haughty laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. And you say I’m the crass one.”

I cut a piece of lasagna into a perfect square. “How was your symposium? Did you wow the medical community with your brilliance?”

“You’ve never seen a room of men and women become completely aroused at the words transcatheter aortic valve implantation. It was fun though. I like explaining the surgeries and showing video taken from inside the heart. I met a man from Düsseldorf who is working on a new synthetic valve that is supposed to last fifty years.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your trip. You were greatly missed in the office.”

He rises from under the sink and doesn’t resist sparing me a knowing look. “I knew you wanted to see me.”

I suppress a smile as he removes the damaged faucet from my sink.

“Good thing I came because you needed a new fixture. I got you the same as me. All you have to do is swipe your hand underneath, and the water comes out.”

“Sounds fancy. I can feel like a doctor, scrubbing in for surgery.”

“Makes me happy.” He tells the Alexa to play Miles Davis and hums to the jazz music as he works. For someone who made a surprise visit, he sure is making himself at home, playing Mr. Fix-It.

I set the plate in the microwave and walk over to the cabinet above the refrigerator to take out the bottle of Johnnie Walker. I pour myself a glass and watch him. The way his back flexes through the white oxford shirt and how his ass looks in tailored pants—it’s a sight to behold. Between his suit jackets or doctor’s coat, he’s always hiding his backside, and it’s a shame. It’s such a firm, luscious one. I now know this from experience.

And, now, it’s time to slow down on the Johnnie.

When he’s done, he turns the main water valve back on, and my new and improved faucet is in effect. I walk over and test it out. My hand moves over the motion sensor, and it turns on.

“Cool,” I commend him.

“I’m happy if you’re happy.” He kisses my hair.

“If you installed a dishwasher in here, I’d be delirious.”

“I can make that happen. What were you doing that the faucet broke anyway?” he asks as he puts all the cleaning products back in the cabinet while I adjust the setting to the perfect temperature.

“I was on the phone with my mother, listening to her plea for grandchildren,” I say.

“Was she?” His hand goes to my ankle, the hold tender yet firm.

I swallow, affected, and blow out a raspy breath. His fingers creep up my calf like a spider headed to its web, dancing over my thigh, and land on my lower belly.

His touch is all I’ve been trying not to think about since he took me to bed. The wonder has been killing me. Will it happen again? How will it happen? We’ve spoken on the phone and texted a few times, but the conversation has never come up. I haven’t seen him in days, and now that he’s here, I feel relieved and oh-so damn recharged.

“She might not have to wait that long.” Christian rises and places his palms on either side of me, pinning me against the counter.

I lean back to look into his face. It’s virile, full of vigor and sexual potency.

My body shakes right down to the core.

“I see you got my flowers.” He smirks.

On my counter are the flowers he sent me. I said nothing about the sunflowers, except for a thank you. Now that he’s upped to red roses, it’s time to address the issue.

“You can’t send me flowers at work.”

“I wrote nothing scandalous in the card.” He leans his weight into me.

I inhale sharply. “People might get the wrong impression.”