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She heard him open and shut a cupboard drawer. His footsteps drew closer to her. He stood behind her and cut the back of her blouse with a scissors. The warmth of his body washed over her skin as her shirt fell open. He set the scissors on the counter next to her and then pulled her blouse away from her skin. She continued to lean over the sink, holding the sweatshirt firmly to her face with one hand. The only part of the shirt that remained touching her was the cuff around her wrist of the arm that held the sweatshirt to her face.
He leaned forward and reached around her. With one arm on each side of her, he turned the faucet on and wet a wash cloth in his hand. He squirted dish soap onto the cloth and pressed the cool soft material against her shoulder. The slow, gentle strokes not only heated her skin more than her embarrassment had, it sensitized it as well, sending a tinge of odd thrill deep into her core.
When he finished washing her, he placed his hand over hers, gripping the sweatshirt as he gently pulled it away from her face. He tugged the sweatshirt from her hand, and her ruined blouse fell to the floor. As he slipped the sweatshirt over her head, she lifted her arms, placing them through the sleeves. She didn’t know what to do or say. Embarrassment consumed her. Her neighbor just saw her nearly naked in his kitchen. The heavy blanket of awkwardness filling the room was absolutely agonizing.
Angelina bounded into the kitchen, Jeffrey squirming in her arms. “Is everything okay? Elizabeth, I’m so sorry.”
Elizabeth tore her gaze from the sink in order to look at her. “It’s okay. Joe’s got me all fixed up.”
“Please, won’t you come join us again in the living room?” Angelina asked politely.
Elizabeth’s stomach churned, and her face was still on fire. “Thank you, but I think I’m just going to head home now,” she replied as she nodded at her neighbor and headed for the entryway closet to retrieve her coat.
Joe followed and held her jacket as she slid into it. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need me to walk you home?”
“I’m fine. I think I can manage,” Elizabeth replied as she exited his house, fighting the urge to look back to catch one more glimpse of the man with the gentle hands.
She blew out a sigh. Everything was going fine. I was actually starting to enjoy myself until I puked in front of his entire family. She shook her head. They must think I’m some sort of idiot.
Chapter Eight
Saturday morning, Elizabeth peered out the window to find Nick’s truck parked in Joe’s driveway. Her gut instincts told her Nick didn’t care for her too much so she waited for him to leave before she headed over to Joe’s to return his sweatshirt, all cleaned and pressed. Still embarrassed about her behavior on Thanksgiving Day, she’d contemplated just leaving the sweatshirt on his doorstep, but rarely one for not facing her fears, she boldly knocked on the front door.
Joe pulled the door open, and her gaze immediately landed on the feather duster in his hand. “You clean?”
He arched a brow. “Yes. Who would you think cleans my house?” he asked in return as he tapped the duster in his hands.
“I don’t know, perhaps a cleaning lady,” she replied as she handed him his sweatshirt.
He took the garment from her and invited her in for a cup of coffee. The surprised look in his eyes the second the invitation came out of his mouth suggested he wanted to suck the words right back in.
A couple of beats passed as she debated her answer. “Okay.”
She followed him to the kitchen, giving herself a mental head slap along the way. Why on earth did she accept the invitation?
Figuring it would to rude to conjure up some lame excuse to leave at this point, she shrugged out of her jacket, flung it over the back of a kitchen chair, and took a seat at the table. Joe poured her a cup of coffee, refilled his cup, and then took a seat at the table as well.
