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Lachlan rolled his eyes at me. “We can stay upstairs. We’ve got everything we need. A juice or coffee?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having?”
“Coffee, then. We have a new espresso machine.” He looked at Britney.
“I can make it,” she said.
I jumped in. “No need. I can do it.”
After one more lingering icy stare, she sauntered off. Dressed in shorts and a tight T-shirt, she had the slim physique I’d always wished for, which pissed me off.
While I stood in front of the coffee machine, Lachlan stepped behind me and squeezed my butt. “I can make it if you like.”
“No. Let me. I like doing it,” I said, turning the knob.
“And I like your curvy ass.” He breathed down my neck, and the steam coming off me matched that from the espresso machine.
Lachlan brought out the milk and passed me the sugar. After I managed to whip up a couple of very passable lattes, I felt pleased with myself.
“Thanks.” He took a sip. “Mm. Perfect. Let’s go upstairs.”
Clutching my mug, I climbed the grand old winding staircase, which was flanked by scrolled ironwork. I slid my hand along the polished wooden banister, careful not to spill my coffee on the carpet.
Lachlan’s room was the first of many along the long second-floor landing. There was so much to see that I felt dazzled by his opulent home.
I walked around his massive bedroom, which could have housed a small family, checking out cute photographs of famous cities and a collection of old surfing posters from the sixties. Then I stepped through the stained-glass doors onto the balcony and stared out to sea.
After taking a deep breath of salty air, I said, “This is gorgeous.”
Lachlan stood behind me, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my shoulder. “I love my home,” he said “My father’s room’s even bigger.”
I recalled his stepmother being there. “Is that far from this room?”
“We have a room separating us.” Crushing me with his strong body, he kissed me. “You can squeal that sexy head off all you like.”
I pulled away and laughed. “I don’t squeal.”
“You do.” He grinned. “I love it. Especially when your fingernails dig in.”
He lifted his T-shirt and turned around, showing me his scratched back.
“Shit. I’ve drawn blood,” I said.
“I like it. Marks of passion.”
“That’s a great name for a Harlequin romance.”
“If I leave my day job, I’ll consider writing one.”
I laughed. “Your day job? Writing?”
“I am literate. I didn’t completely blow those fourteen-odd years of education.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself, Lachlan. You’re very talented. And you have a mercurial mind.”
“Is that the same as having a dirty mind?” He untied my dress and let it pool on the ground.
I quickly stepped back inside, just in case a gardener saw us.
