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“Yeah. I just . . . I don’t know. I didn’t sleep last night and I feel a bit off.”
“Sick?” He placed a hand over her forehead. She didn’t feel hot although she was flushed. That could be due to fatigue, though.
“No, not sick. I don’t know. My brain won’t shut up.” She flitted around, picking things up. But instead of putting them away, she’d find something else to pick it up and place the other item down.
So basically, she was just shifting things around. It was cute as hell. But he was starting to really worry about her. Sitting on the sofa, he stared over at her.
“Maeve.”
She froze. As though she’d just remembered he was there. Well, that wasn’t exactly flattering, was it?
“Yes?” she asked.
“Come here.”
“I was just going to tidy up. Sorry, it’s a mess.”
“Come here.”
“Would you like a drink? Something to eat? How rude of me not to offer. I don’t know what’s wrong with my manners.”
He stared at the dog, who looked back at him. Today, the French Bulldog was dressed in a leopard print tutu. It was interesting.
“I don’t want anything, girl, except for you to come here.”
“But I—”
“Maeve,” he said in a stern voice. He didn’t often use that voice on her. He might have wanted to. A lot. But it wasn’t really his place.
Only now, he thought he might make it his place.
She moved over to him. Slowly. So slowly that his hand itched to give her naughty ass a few sharp spanks.
What a brat.
When she was close, though, he lifted her onto his lap. Now wasn’t the time to go through any of that. There was something going on with her. As soon as he got her into his lap, though, she sighed and settled in. Perhaps it was just that she was exhausted.
He rubbed at the back of her neck, then circled that spot that got her so turned on. She squirmed, pressing against him.
It would be impossible not to react, but he tried not to focus on his growing erection. She needed to be settled down. Not for him to toss her over the back of the sofa and fuck her brains out.
She pressed her face against his neck and he had to fight hard to keep himself still.
Comfort.
Not sex.
Fuck, he’d missed her, though. The scent of her. The feel of her against him. She was in his head all the time. Kind of unnerving when he’d never felt this way about anyone before.
He moved his hand down her back. “I see that Squish has a new outfit on.”
“Yeah, I’m making it for Mr. Hemsworth.”
“Mr. Hemsworth?” he paused.
“Yeah, not the actual actor, obviously. Mrs. Worthington is my best client. She buys all sorts of outfits for her dog, Mr. Hemsworth.”
“And she wanted a leopard-print tutu?” he asked carefully.
