Page 6

On entering the large, open-plan kitchen, she placed the glasses onto the island, then rummaged in the fridge to lift out a half-full bottle of white wine. Taking it over to the island, she resisted the urge to glug it, and poured some for Una. The door opened and she snapped her gaze up, meeting Sam’s amber eyes and nearly sloshing the wine out of the glass. Ugh. I’d definitely prefer Moby Dick’s company.

“Hope you’re not after my job,” he said, busying himself next to her.

“Nope,” Maya said quickly. “I can’t pull off the tiny-apron-over-the-pubic-area look.”

Sam paused to rake his gaze over her, eyebrow raised, and Maya wished she hadn’t said that.

He turned back to his task. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Cheeky bugger. She supposed she had walked into that one. But it’s not as if the thought of her naked had done anything for him in the past.

Maya screwed the top back onto the wine and glanced over, trying not to stare too much at his body. The silence was getting to her.

“Nice beard,” she said, then winced. Was that the best she could come up with? Not “The nights are getting dark, aren’t they?” or “It’s really cold, isn’t it?” or “Are you ready for Christmas?”

Sam smiled as he rubbed his fingers over where his sandy-brown, neatly groomed beard framed the pink of his lips. Maya tried not to let how sexy that gesture was affect her, and failed.

“You like it?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on his face. “Suits you. How long have you had it?”

“About a year,” Sam replied as he recommenced cocktail shaking. “Not seen you in a while, though.”

God, this is surreal. “Nope.”

Sam didn’t seem fazed by being practically naked. But that wasn’t a surprise, because he’d never been the sort to be easily intimidated. Cocky git.

Maya took the wine back to the fridge, then lifted her drinks. She turned to go, determined not to be the one who felt pressured into filling the silence.

“Hold on.”

She stopped and turned, annoyed with herself for doing as he asked instead of ignoring him and his stupid tiny tinsel apron. “What?”

He glanced over as he poured the cocktail. “I need to ask you a favor.”

A favor? You’ve some nerve.

Before she could answer, the door opened, and one of the women practically stumbled into the room. Maya shifted to prevent a collision.

“Hey,” the woman slurred. Maya thought she’d been introduced as Donna. Or Doreen. Or Doris.

Probably-Donna sidled over to Sam, not even noticing Maya’s presence. “Please, can I have a sloe comfortable screw against the wall? And I don’t mean the cocktail.” Donna burst into overenthusiastic laughter, and Maya struggled to keep the smile from her face.

Sam graciously humored Donna’s drunken antics as he prepared her drink. He must have heard that joke a million times, but did a good job of pretending otherwise.

Maya edged closer to the door, wanting to make her escape, but aware that Sam had asked her to hold on. Wondering why she was even considering doing as he’d asked, she contemplated whether to sneak away. But then Sam ushered Donna toward the door, charming her out of the room.

He shut it, then closed the gap between the two of them—coming close enough that she inhaled a lungful of his scent. Crisp and fresh . . . suddenly she was back in the boot room at the ski resort, holding him close as he pushed her up against the wall and dragged his lips from her mouth onto her neck.

Maya tried to take shallow breaths so that she couldn’t smell him, and stared at the ceiling in an effort not to look at his body.

“Maya.”

“What?”

“You can look at me. It’s not like you haven’t seen me wearing as much in the Glenavie swimming pool.”

She met his eyes, aware of the heat of his body close to hers against the backdrop of the cool kitchen. “Sam, you never had your actual arse out at the swimming pool. And we were probably about ten at the time.”