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He flicked on the light in the next room. A guest room, as he’d expected, and completely different from what he’d seen of Leigh’s house so far. No soft hues or feminine touches in here, just deep colors and dark furniture. She had eclectic taste.
The closet was directly to his right, meaning he didn’t have to drip all over her floors much longer. He pulled the bi-folding doors open. A pile of towels on the top shelf, check. Also, a bunch of men’s clothes hanging on the bar. Shirts, hoodies, a bathrobe.
He yanked a blue towel from the stack and secured it around his waist. But close the door and walk away, hell no. Not until he had a better look around.
More guy stuff in the dresser drawers. Not packed, but full enough. T-shirts, jeans, sleep pants. Underwear and socks. He shoved the final drawer closed and turned to survey the rest of the room, then crossed to the bedside table and picked up the single framed photo. A candid shot of Lennox, Leigh, and Tim on a dock, probably at a cottage. The same one Tim had taken Lennox to this weekend? Wherever, whenever the picture had been taken, one thing was as clear as the summer sky in the background—they were a happy family. Shit.
* * *
LEIGH
“Hey. Perfect timing.”Leigh scored the omelet with the spatula and slid the halves onto two plates, then deposited both on the island where she and Lennox ate most of their meals. “I hope you like eggs and veggies.”
“Yeah, sounds great.” Sam moved from the doorway, where he’d appeared moments before, and then stopped, arms folded over his chest. He pulled a barstool around to the opposite side of the island—the spot farthest away from her—slid onto the stool and pulled one of the plates toward him. “Smells great too. Thanks.”
“Good thing breakfast smells good. Guess I should have showered after all.” Maybe it wasn’t the wittiest thing in the world, but her attempt at self-deprecating humor went completely unanswered. Not even with a smile.
Fifteen minutes ago, he’d looked at her as if she were all the breakfast he needed. Now, he seemed more interested in cataloging every detail of her kitchen than looking at her. So much for that raincheck.
“I have coffee if you’d like some. Not as good as what they make at Bean There, though, if that’s what you’re used to.”
“It’s not.” Another mouthful of omelet went in, got chewed, went down. “And no coffee, thanks.”
That was it? Enough of this nonsense. She stood, gathered her half-full plate and her pride, and waited for him to grace her with eye contact. “I had a lot of fun with you, Sam, at my store and in my bed. And if you’d wanted to see me again, I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. However, I’m not into broody men, not even when their flipside is as great as yours. So, thank you for last night, but once you’ve finished your eggs, please show yourself out.”
The trip upstairs felt like a slow-motion scene from a dream. But she made it. Without looking back, she might add. Once behind the closed bathroom door, she released the big breath she’d taken in the kitchen, the one that’d straightened her spine as she walked away from Sam.
She would not make a big deal of this. He wasn’t her first one-night stand, nor would he be the last. So what if he happened to be the best. She’d count herself lucky for the experience—and its multiple orgasms—and keep moving forward. As she always did.
She showered and secured her damp hair in a casual twist rather than spend valuable minutes on blow-drying and styling. The store didn’t open until nine, but she had a lot to do prior to turning the sign in the window, especially after knocking off earlier than planned last night.
She dressed quickly and headed down the stairs. Started to, anyway. The sight of Sam, waiting in her front hall, slowed her pace considerably. “You’re still here.”
His cap covered the hair she’d become accustomed to looking at, and quite enjoyed running her fingers through. His hands were stuffed in the front pockets of his deliciously low-slung jeans.
But she would not falter. She descended from the last stair, careful to skirt around him, rather than make contact. “Did the door not work?” The deadbolt clicked beneath her fingers, then she turned the handle. “It works for me. There you go.”
He didn’t go. “Does Tim live with you?”
“What?”
Sam’s eyes remained trained on her face, entrancing as always, but lacking their usual lightness. “After my shower, I was looking for your towels. I found some in a closet—along with a bunch of men’s clothes.”
Perhaps they should have talked a bit more last night and messed around a bit less. She straightened, tucked her cell into her purse and slid the strap over her shoulder. “Tim doesn’t live here, but it’s not your average…” Situation? Arrangement?
“Relationship?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.” Off came the cap, so he could scrub his palm over his hair. “You told me you were single.”
“Because I am single.”
“Does Tim know that?”
“Yes.”
Sam didn’t look convinced. Jaw clenched, lips shut tight in a straight line. They’d had their fun last night, he shouldn’t care if she was single or not. Unless…no. He couldn’t possibly be jealous.
