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Sean rolled his eye. “Glad I could entertain you.” He pulled at the hem of his shirt to take it off, but grimaced as he tried to pull his arms out of it.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to wash this shit and I don’t want to drag tomato sauce down the steps.”
“Uh, then let me help,” she said. When he gave in, she gently lifted the shirt over his head, which had her realizing for the hundredth time how ripped he was and how tall he was. She’d always found marked differences in size between a man and a woman sexy, and since he had a good seven inches on her, not to mention biceps and thighs like freaking tree limbs, Sean ticked every one of her boxes in that regard. She forced her gaze away from his bruised chest to see that she’d accidentally smeared the dot of soup on his cheek. “Wait.” Grinning, she reached up and wiped it away. “All better.”
There was an intensity about the way he was looking at her that made her stomach take a little tumble she didn’t want it to be taking, so she turned away, found the trash can under the kitchen sink, and dumped all the dirty paper towels there before turning on the faucet to wash her hands. She grabbed a clean towel to dry off and turned—
“What the fuck are you doing, Riddick?” she asked, finding Sean with his pants around his knees. The only thing he wore was a pair of dark gray boxers that fit snugly enough that they seriously did not leave much to the imagination—not that she needed to use her freaking imagination because Halloween-party hijinks of the sex-in-a-truck variety had ensued.
Sean smirked. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. Ain’t nothing you haven’t seen before.” The pants hit the floor at his ankles, and he grimaced as he reached to pick them up. “I told ya; I gotta wash this shit.” He was a little pale by the time he’d finished his impromptu striptease. And the pants did in fact leave a new smear of soup on the floor that he might’ve trailed down the steps.
So Dani bit back the urge to give him a hard time. “Just leave the stuff there. I’ll throw it in the washer for you.”
He sagged against the counter. “Okay.”
That he gave in so quickly told her everything she needed to know. “Stay right there. I’m going to grab you another set of clothes from your room, then we’ll get you settled on the couch again and I’ll bring down the food.”
Upstairs, she beelined for his bedroom at the back of the house. A king-sized bed with a hunter green comforter dominated the room, which subtly smelled of Sean—all woodsy, smoky spice, like the way your clothes smelled after sitting around a campfire.
It felt strange being alone in his space like this when, before today, she’d never been to the man’s house even once. Everything about the place was tasteful and understated, even if a little impersonal—well, except for the basement. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but a part of her wouldn’t have been surprised for his house to have resembled a frat, complete with foosball, sticky floors, and pin-up calendars. Which made her realize yet again how wrongly she’d judged the guy.
That realization crawled around uncomfortably inside her head. All at once, she was barraged with a quick succession of memories: Sean wanting to get her off again and again that night in his truck. The blast of arousal she’d felt when he’d pinned her down yesterday at WFC. Him telling her she was better than him. Her finding all these new layers to the man…
It was confusing as hell. And irritating, too. Because Dani didn’t want to feel confused about Sean. Or, frankly, about any man.
Especially less than two weeks before Anthony’s anniversary…
That thought brought a complete sucker punch of guilt that cut through all that confusion. Heaving a deep breath, she opened his dresser drawers until she found a T-shirt and a pair of worn-soft sweatpants that she thought might be more comfortable than jeans. Downstairs again, she found him standing, arms braced against the counter, head sagging, his back to her.
For just a moment, the picture he made there stole her breath. His body was a freaking masculine work of art. The broad, muscled back. The tight ass. The tattoos stretched stark across his skin.
How she could even notice such things with that guilt sloshing around inside her, she didn’t know. But it sure as heck didn’t make her feel great about herself, that was for sure.
She was here as a nurse, and maybe a bit as his friend—but certainly not as his lover. Which had her looking past his body to see that his effort to help make dinner had drained him of whatever energy sleeping had provided. “Hey,” she said. “Here are some clean clothes.”
