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Oh boy.
Our eyes lock, and I could have sworn I see heat surging there in his gaze. But after a long pause, Fraser looks away. “You take the shower first,” he suggests hurriedly. “I’ll just change and go order us some food.”
“Good idea!” I yelp. Because the longer we spend in here, alone…
Well, that bed is looking awfully inviting. Dust ruffle and all.
Fraser starts unbuttoning his shirt, so I grab my bag, and disappear into the adjoining bathroom, grateful for the solid wooden door between us—and the chance to get out of these wet clothes. I quickly strip and turn on the hot water—and then promptly stifle a shriek as I catch sight of my reflection in the steamy mirror.
Never mind a drowned rat, I look like a drenched raccoon!
Oh God.
I take in the smudged mascara rings under my eyes, the limp wet hair, and my frozen, pale skin. No wonder Fraser was thinking about a hot meal and not a hot make out session!
There’s not a moment to waste. I dive into the shower, and get to lathering, scrubbing every inch of my body until I finally emerge warm, fresh, and squeaky clean. Of course, I’m not trying to seduce the guy, I remind myself as I comb out my hair and apply just a touch of concealer to make me look halfway human. In fact, it would probably be safer to stay a total man repellant, given the close quarters we now find ourselves sharing. But my pride can’t quite bring myself to look anything less than irresistible.
I may be an embittered ex, but I want to be acuteembittered ex.
“Fraser?” I tap carefully on the door. “Are you in there?”
The last thing I need is an accidental glimpse of his hunky body to throw my hormones into a tailspin. Again.
There’s no reply, so I step back into the bedroom. There’s no sign of Fraser, save his wet clothes hanging over the back of a chair, so with one last wary look at the enormous bed, I make my way downstairs.
Fraser’s claimed the table closest to the fireplace, and is relaxing back, looking much happier in dry clothing with a pint of something cloudy in his hand.
“Feeling better?” he asks, as I collapse into the seat beside him.
“God, so much better,” I sigh. He nudges another pint glass over to me, but I pause.
“Lager and lime,” he confirms. “I wouldn’t dream of ordering you anything that tastes like beer.”
I smile. “Thank you,” I say, gratefully taking a sip. “And the food—”
“Is coming right up.” He nods, and sure enough, someone deposits a couple of loaded plates on the table for us.
“Oh my god, I love you,” I blurt, then realize what I just said. “You know what I mean. This almost makes the whole disaster worth it,” I add quickly, already dunking a chip in ketchup and inhaling it in a single bite.
“Which disaster in particular are you talking about?” Fraser cracks, digging into his pie. “We have more than one to choose from.”
I groan. The part where I sent Darcy running for the hills… My Chatsworth detour… Our rain-soaked hike…
Or the fact that all of it has been while riding shotgun to the man who broke my heart.
How do I even pick?
But for some reason, sitting here by the roaring fire with a good meal, and Fraser looking downright delicious, I can’t find it in myself to feel bad. He’s finally dressed down, in a pair of worn jeans and a thin sweater that hugs his biceps just right, his hair mussed and his beard no longer perfectly groomed.
He looks rugged, and rough-around-the-edges, and likemy Fraseragain.
My heart shivers in my chest.
Careful…
“She better be worth it,” I declare, munching my way through my pie.
“Who?” Fraser looks over, puzzled.
