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Especially when you were afraid he might be right.
Carson had made it a personal goal to seduce Julie in every room of the mansion.
There were a lot of rooms.
It helped that she was airing them out, changing all the linens in preparation for the arrival of guests in a few days. He would find her when he got back from his morning poker match with his dad or after he finished whatever chores she’d given him to do—put the star on top of her Christmas tree, strip a wallpaper border from the guest bathroom on the first floor, build custom shelving for a small, triangular closet wedged into a weird angle of the kitchen that Julie wanted to turn into a pantry.
This afternoon, a fine coating of sawdust covered his arms, and he found her on the second story, vacuuming under a bed. She sat up when she heard his knock, took one look at his face, and said, “No way. I’m all grimy.”
“I like grimy.”
“I stink.”
“So do I.”
She snorted. “That’s not exactly an enticement.”
Carson sank to his knees behind her and widened his thighs to straddle her bent legs. He coaxed her back against him and wrapped one arm around her waist.
“It’ll be primitive and nasty,” he said against her ear. “That’s the best kind.”
“Only men think that’s the best kind.”
He took her breast in his hand and rubbed his thumb over her nipple. “You can bite me if you want.”
“I bet you taste like salty meat.”
“With sawdust on top.”
“I’m getting wet just thinking about it.”
He took a chance and unzipped her pants. She was. “You’re such a pervert.”
“Takes one to know one.”
He slipped his hand through her folds, his finger over her clit until she moaned and bumped her ass back into him with a light collision.
“Your hands drive me crazy.”
“Your everything drives me crazy.” A harder bump. “I’m going to fuck you from behind now.”
“God, the sweet nothings.” But she was panting, and she sounded happy.
“Until you grunt.”
“I never grunt.”
He grinned and dropped his zipper. “You will this time.”
She did, too. Afterward, he helped her finish the room, cleaned them both up over the course of a long, slightly depraved shower, and made her dinner in repayment.
Carson had finally figured out how to get his father out of the house. The magic words turned out to be “Julie needs your help.”
It was sort of true. Or at least within range of the truth. He’d been fussing with the triangular closet shelves for a couple days, but he wasn’t happy with the way they were coming out. Bruce reminded him in an excessively casual way that when it came to custom work, Martin did the best carpentry of anybody in town.
As if Carson hadn’t known that already.
“Lazy Susan,” his father said when he got a look at the space.
