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Like maybe she hadn’t slept well.
He’d thought he detected shadows under her indigo blue eyes, then had the most ridiculous urge to put his arm around her and comfort her. Utterly inappropriate, of course, but then, so far most of his thoughts about Shona Dove had been. And talking of sleep—well, he sure fucking hadn’t. After he’d got back to the hotel from his parents’ place he’d lain in his four-poster bed, nursing the hard-on from hell as he thought about her soft, pliant body, imagining the way she’d moan as he thrust Into her. In the early hours he gave in to the throbbing rod between his thighs and attempted to jerk off, then decided he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eyes the next morning if he’d creamed himself spectacularly while fantasizing about her. Groaning, he’d pulled the pillow over his head and finally fallen asleep.
And now, maybe even worse than his patent lust was this weird urge to snuggle her into his big flank, place a kiss on her silver-blonde hair. Because somehow, he sensed a vulnerability about her. Like she’d been hurt.
And he wanted to be the guy to make it all better.
Ah, you knuckle-headed orc, stop dreaming.
With a growl, he stalked inside the little café and let the delectable smell of chowder engulf his nostrils. As he waited in line, he drew up her number on his cell, pleasure rippling through his veins just doing so. He was going to spend the rest of the day with Shona Dove. On Orc Island. After a cozy little lunch together at the best chowder joint in Motham.
Hah! Forget about his errant cock.
His heart was doing somersaults.
Salty water sloshed around Shona’s calves. It had been a bad move to try and squeeze in an appraisal on this marsh house before meeting Tor. But she’d gotten seriously behind schedule, and the owners of the property were getting impatient.
“We want to move on with our lives,” the sea anemone had whined down the phone earlier. “We’ve got plans.”
“I realize that. I’m sorry I had to postpone yesterday, something urgent came up.”
“We’ll look elsewhere if you can’t get this on the market immediately,” the anemone grumbled.
“Consider it done.”
So here she was, staring at the water lapping over the top of her wellington boots and staining her suit pants. When her phone rang she nearly dropped it in the murky water in her haste to get it out of her pocket.
“Meet me for lunch,” the baritone voice demanded, as if he damn well owned her.
But her frisson of annoyance couldn’t replace the bigger frisson of pleasure. The sound of Tor’s deep sexy voice had sent pleasure rippling right down to her cold, slightly damp feet.
“Where?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“On the quay. Sweet Clams. Do you know it?”
“I’ve heard great things about it.”
“Will you be long? My stomach’s rumbling.”
She had to laugh at that. “Are you at risk of getting hangry, Tor?”
“No—well yeah, maybe a little.”
“You’re in luck, I’m not far away.” She sloshed her way outside and sat on a bench on the porch. The irony was that the house was set lower than the surrounding veranda, so she was clear of water here on the outside. “It won’t take me long once I’ve?—”
Cradling the phone against her ear, she tugged off one boot, and a small, shiny bug-eyed thing slid out, scuttled on crab-like claws back to the front door, hopped over the threshold and sploshed into the hallway.
She must have squealed because Tor asked sharply, “What’s up?”
“Some little slimy thing. I was knee deep in murky seawater when you rang.”
“What are you talking about?” He sounded amused now.
She sighed. “I thought I could squeeze in a house evaluation, but this place is such a mess, and I’ve been paddling around in water for the last half hour trying to find its good points.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Just south of the bay.”
