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"I live here. There's a town about ten miles away. I do my shopping there, unless I need something special. Then I order online."
"And what about work?"
"Do that here too, at home. I'm a virtual assistant." He looks vaguely confused, as people often do when I tell them what line of work I'm in, so I explain. "That means people hire me to help them arrange their work schedules, remind them of appointments, do research for them, invoice their clients, basically anything that makes it easier for them to do their jobs."
"Ah, I see. Sounds like interesting work."
"Can be." I tuck my feet under me cross-legged while I sip my cocoa. "You said you work at a day spa. What exactly do you do there?"
"I'm a massage therapist. Mostly, I work with clients who are injured or elderly."
"You must be good with your hands." And yes, I'm imagining his hands rubbing me down. Can't help it. He's gorgeous and sweet, and I haven't been with anyone in months.
But no, I will not sleep with him. We just met, for heaven's sake.
My resolve lasts for exactly eight seconds, according to the mantel clock. Then he announces, "I'd be happy to give you a free massage as thanks for saving my life."
Oh yeah, now I desperately want him to touch me all over.
"That's a sweet offer," I say, "but it's late, and we should both get some rest. The sofa pulls out into a bed. Are you okay with sleeping out here? This cabin only has one bedroom. Well, technically two. But I'm using the upstairs room for storage."
"No worries. I can camp out by the fire."
"I'll get you pillows and a blanket. The sheets are already on the bed."
We both get up, and Ben helps me pull out the sofa bed. Then I rush back to my room to grab those pillows and a blanket for my guest. I haven't hosted any guests since I started living here, and it's kind of nice to have some company. I also grab a robe in case he wants that. I don't have any pajamas for him to sleep in, not even a pair of boxers. A robe will have to suffice.
I sleep in a teddy, but I can't give him one of those to wear. He's much bigger than I am.
Though I try to put the blanket on the sofa bed, my guest refuses to let me help him with that task. He shoos me away with a smile. How can I argue with such a sweet hottie? I say good night and go back to my room.
Though I try to sleep, I can't stop thinking about Ben. The fact that I'd seen him in the buff does nothing to temper my lust for that man. I shouldn't think about his job, because that leads to fantasies of his hands all over my body, but my mind has other ideas. It treats me to vivid images of Ben massaging me from head to toe and giving me a happy ending with those fingers and that mouth. I can't explain why I want a man I just met. It's never happened to me before. But there's something about him that makes me completely nuts in the sexiest way imaginable.
I need to relieve this damp ache between my thighs. Need to do it so badly. But I have a guest who's sleeping twenty feet away from my bedroom. What if he heard me getting off? I've never been good at staying quiet either during sex or when I make myself come. So no, I will not do that. Just have to live with the lust until I finally get sleepy.
An hour after I crawled under my sheets, I develop a strong need to pee. So I slink out of my room, aiming for the bathroom across the hall. I bump into Ben. Literally. We crash into each other in the semi-dark, with only the muted glow from the hall night-light to dispel the shadows. I should move away from him, but I can't convince my muscles to move.
Ben is naked.
Sheesh, I gave him a robe, for pity's sake. Why isn't he wearing it?
"Did I scare you?" he asks in that sinfully sexy British accent.
"No, not scared."
"Good." He lashes an arm around me. "I want to kiss you, Sam."
Oh God, yes, I want that. But all I can manage to say is, "Okay."
He grips my bottom in both hands and lifts me to level our faces—and then he kisses me.
Chapter Three
Ben
I'm kissing Sam.Kissingher. The woman I met a few hours ago just agreed to let me glue my mouth to hers and thrust my tongue between those sexy lips. She tastes like mint. Toothpaste, I assume. Don't care because it feels so bloody good to have her lips molded to mine and her tongue teasing me, not to mention her tits pasted to my chest with their stiff tips poking me. Every ounce of blood in my body seems to have flooded down to my cock, hardening it in record time. I don't want to stop with a kiss. I want to drag her down to the floor and shag her right this instant.
But I'm not the sort to do that. It wouldn't be right.
