“I know.” He took a leisurely sip of his coffee. “And I’d like to finish that talk we started.”
Mackenzie frowned. “I’m not in the talking mood.”
“Again, I can wait.”
Mackenzie threw her hands up in frustration. “God, you’re such a pain in the ass!”
“You’ll find that I grow on you.”
That was the problem. “When did the guy who’d drink convenience-store drip decide to become a coffee snob?”
“I’ll tell you, if you tell me when you decided to start investing in so much lace,” he said. “I must say, teal really brings out the color in your cheeks.”
“My cheeks are probably as pale as the rest of my face from too much bourbon.”
“I wasn’t talking about those cheeks, Trouble.”
Mackenzie rolled her eyes. So she liked to sleep in nightshirts. So what? She was a single woman living alone. What she wore to bed, or didn’t wear as the case was, wasn’t any of his business. He was the guest who’d worn out his welcome.
Ignoring the cool breeze blowing past her lace-clad backside, Mackenzie crossed her arms over her chest. “Grow up, Hunter.”
Hunter smiled, so big she actually felt it. “If Ben Backster could see you now.”
Mackenzie yanked the bottom of the tank top down, stretching it to cover as much of her un–award-winning buns as possible.
Hunter gave a sound of male appreciation. “I’ll be sure to tell good old Ben you like to match your lace.”
She let go of the tank and it popped up. She heard a low whistle. “Stop looking at my panties.”
“I’m too busy staring at your ass to have time to take in those panties of yours. But if you’d hold still, I can take in both.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, they’re just panties.”
“Have to disagree, Trouble. Panties are cotton with little flowers or the days of the week on them. Those there would fall under lingerie. Cheeky cut, I believe.”
“I need a shower,” she said, noting that Muttley had moved to her side and was forming a barrier between her and the broken mug. “Be sure to lock up when you leave.”
“Let me know if you need help scrubbing your back. I’ve been told I’m very thorough.”
Hunter watched Mackenzie strut down the long hallway, hand lightly brushing the wall on one side to guide her, her ass swishing like she knew he was watching.
And he was.
Hunter hadn’t stopped staring at her since she’d stumbled out of her bedroom dressed in nothing but a T-shirt, teal lace, and those fuzzy pink boots. Then there was the morning sunlight, shining on her sleep-tousled hair and making that lace more like cheesecloth than clothing.
Damn, she knew how to put the good in his morning.
Which was the only excuse Hunter had for how he’d handled things. Had the blood not been pumping south, he’d have known to gently announce his presence. Instead, he’d taken one look at that lace-covered backside, remembered how she’d felt pressed up against him last night, and immediately forgotten the plan—to keep things simple.
Then he’d scared the shit out of her.
He’d never really considered how vulnerable she was. A blind woman alone in a house with a strange man. The possibilities of what could happen if that man were an intruder instead of him made him rethink everything.
Hunter walked into the pantry and grabbed the broom and dustpan. He needed to make sure he got all the pieces of the broken mug cleaned up.
He’d just tossed the last of it in the trash and was using a wet towel to catch the tiny fragments when he was met with two big black eyes—and a growl.
“Hey, fella,” he said, but those eyes only narrowed. Hunter reached out his hand, and Muttley decided it was time to show Hunter his teeth—and whose house this was.
