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Secretly, I like him like this.
Close, comfortable, and not trying to kill me with a look.
With a small shake to clear my head that I hope he doesn’t notice, I slip by him and into the bathroom while he opens a cupboard in the hallway to hand me a towel. I look at myself in the mirror, glad my tan hides any residual blush that might be left behind. Even if my hair’s a wreck, with leaves sticking out, and there’s dirt on my cheeks, I don’t feel that bad. When he hands me a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, our eyes meet and my heart lurches.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t want to hear whatever it is. I can’t concentrate on anything except turning away, because if I don’t… well, I’m about to climb him like a tree and anything he says is just going to make it worse.
My hands shake as I shut the door, practically slamming it in his face. Then, squeezing my eyes shut, I slide down against the door with my head in my hands until there’s nothing I can do but climb in the tub.
A shower does wonders to my equilibrium, even if I do smell like his soap, a fresh, masculine scent I like a little too much against my skin, and I stay under the hot needles of water until the heat’s almost gone.
With the heat, all the nerves and tension I’ve felt since the storm hit vanish, too. The tears I’d had earlier, more from stress than anything else, are long-gone.
For a second, I think about trying to give myself an orgasm as the water cools, but decide against it when I don’t know if he’d be able to hear me. Besides, I still need to be able to face the world. Or Travis.
Once I’ve managed to get my hair almost dry and I’m dressed in the old sheriff’s department shirt that’s about four sizes too big and entirely too comfy, I stall by sneaking through all of his cabinets and drawers to figure out if there’s anything I can use in them to tease the man who’s done nothing but set my nerves on edge.
When I open the door and stick my head out, I breathe a deep sigh of relief.
He isn’t there, and I can’t hear any noise coming down the hall. Well, what did I expect? Travis to be hanging outside the door? If I were honest with myself, yeah. I did. Because it’s exactly what I’d be doing in his situation.
Not knowing what to do, I stand in the hall until a clattering from down in the kitchen gives me somewhere to go without having to go exploring in the house. Although, I do hesitate at his bedroom door and contemplate taking a look.
Once I decide against it, in the sake of keeping the temporary truce up, I go downstairs. At the entrance to the kitchen, I stop in my tracks. Travis, blond head bent low as he makes sandwiches, is humming to himself, and my heart lurches to life in my chest.
The clock above the stove says 1:45 in old-fashioned white on black numerals, and I should be ready to fall asleep where I’m standing, but my stomach is grumbling when I see the food. Have I even remembered to eat today?
He turns, his gaze sliding down over me, catching on my bare legs. And my cheeks burn all over again. “The sweats were way too big. I’d probably trip over the legs and break my neck and I didn’t think you’d want to dig a hole in your perfectly manicured yard to bury my body, especially after all the work tonight.”
He stares some more, still at my legs, then starts laughing. When he shakes his head and looks up at me, his whole face lights up.
God, he’s so freaking handsome like that, and everything in me begins to melt.
Shit. I need him to be an ass, because otherwise I’m going to make a fool of myself to get his attention.
“Thanks. I totally would for you, but… it’s started to rain again and I don’t want to go outside in that. I’ll get sick.” He waves a knife at the kitchen island. “I didn’t know what you wanted so I got everything out just in case. I’ll make one for you, if you just tell me what you want. Just let me know.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you out—”
“Brandi.” He says my name quietly but with a firmness that actually manages not to be mean. And my stomach chooses that moment to growl. “You’ve been ratted out by the monster in your stomach. What do you want? Just tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
Suddenly I am ravenous. And I gaze at the lettuce and tomato and ham and cheese and— “Everything.”
“A girl after my own heart,” he says, and he’s smiling with a slice of bacon in his hand.
Bacon that I snatch and stuff in my mouth while he puts together another sandwich.
When mine is made, he slides a plate over to me so we can eat standing up. Side by side, I notice his gaze sliding down to my chest a little too often, and every time he does, my nipples start to bead against the soft material of the shirt.
Maybe I should have put my bra back on, but I like the way it feels. I like how he looks at me when he doesn’t think I see. He’s watching me like he can’t get enough. Like I’m pretty and he can’t stop watching. Fire licks low in my belly, and I realize that it isn’t just the food that I’m hungry for… I want him.
But I force myself back to concentrating on the sandwich and my plate, chasing the few crumbs on my plate with my finger when I’m done. “I think that was the best sandwich I’ve had in my life.”
“Now you know my secret.”
“What?” I smile at him sideways. “You’ve got a secret history as a five-star sandwich chef?”
He grins. “You know it. Don’t tell anyone, or they’ll put me to work.”
