effectively inviting him in.
So he came in and I felt a tug of arousal in the core of myself. Crap.
‘That was a pot.’
‘What the fuck kind of pot sounds like that?’ I gasped, hands still shaking. ‘And whose pot was it? And how did a pot make that much –’ I cocked my head and felt a rogue strand of hair drip shower water down the shoulder of my robe.
In an almost surreal state, I watched him reach out and brush my soaking wet lock back. ‘It was a pot, up on the power lines. We need a new one. So currently, you have no power. But I’m guessing you were in the shower so you might not know.’
His finger trailed lightly over the shoulder of my robe where the water had darkened the fabric. It was as if he were touching me. My bare skin. My nipples spiked and my tummy tickled and my pussy gave over a slippery flood of juices.
For a split second I feared he could smell my arousal. Sense it. As if I were dealing with an animal and not a man.
‘That’s just residuals from the dream,’ I told myself.
‘Pardon?’
I cocked my head and then blushed. I had said that aloud. I hadn’t meant to.
‘Nothing. Not enough coffee,’ I said, willing myself to move back and going nowhere. ‘And I guess I won’t be getting any more now will I?’
I laughed stupidly – nervously – and cringed to hear it.
‘I can make you coffee if you want more,’ he said, moving past me, his boots thunking on my wide plank wood floor.
He moved like a force of nature. Big and bold but controlled. He made me feel hot and cold at the same time, being so close to him. It was awful. It was wonderful. It had me feeling on edge, like I might laugh or weep at any given moment.
I felt a rush of guilt thinking of Deke and then reminding myself I was not in for anything serious. No long haul. No love at first sight or any off that bullshit. I was not ready to tie myself down to anyone before I had a handle on the life I wanted.
Whatever the hell that was.
This man, this big lean man, waltzed into my kitchen like he owned it. He took my red enamel pot and filled it with two coffee cups full of water.
'Matches?' he asked.
I handed him the box from the counter. Then Coop turned the burner until we heard the gas hiss and lit it with a wooden kitchen match. 'Gas and electric men, we always have tricks.' He grinned at me and then he opened the junk drawer and rifled through it. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he asked, ‘You have a small strainer?’
‘How small?’ I almost whispered. It was hard not to just watch him and his economical movements.
‘Size of a tuna can?’
‘Nope.’
‘Coffee filters?’
I opened a box on the counter and felt my robe gape a bit. I also felt his eyes on me and it made me flush hot, like I was out in the sun. I rummaged, clutching my robe with one hand, rifling with the other. Finally, I yanked out a package of filters and handed it to him.
‘Another pot? A bowl? A large measuring cup?’
More rummaging and I handed him a glass measuring cup with a spout.
‘Thank you, Farrell,’ he said. ‘Where are you off to today?’
‘Applying at a dog salon,’ I snorted.
He smiled at me, stunning me a bit. Turmoil started in my stomach and much, much lower. I nodded, unable to speak.
Deke made me feel bold and wild. Coop made me feel barely in control and on edge, constantly off kilter and unsteady. It was oddly pleasant to feel after so many years of trying so very hard to pilot a destiny that did not want to behave.
Which reminded me to be nervous about my looming dog salon job interview. I couldn’t decide if it was a step up or a step down from working at a bar. Or maybe it was just a lateral move. And maybe that was okay.
When the water came to a boil he asked me, ‘Strong or weak?’
At first I thought he meant me. And I almost said strong … I hope. But then I realised he meant coffee and I stuck with my original answer. ‘Strong.’
I stared at my ugly mukluks and my freshly
So he came in and I felt a tug of arousal in the core of myself. Crap.
‘That was a pot.’
‘What the fuck kind of pot sounds like that?’ I gasped, hands still shaking. ‘And whose pot was it? And how did a pot make that much –’ I cocked my head and felt a rogue strand of hair drip shower water down the shoulder of my robe.
In an almost surreal state, I watched him reach out and brush my soaking wet lock back. ‘It was a pot, up on the power lines. We need a new one. So currently, you have no power. But I’m guessing you were in the shower so you might not know.’
His finger trailed lightly over the shoulder of my robe where the water had darkened the fabric. It was as if he were touching me. My bare skin. My nipples spiked and my tummy tickled and my pussy gave over a slippery flood of juices.
For a split second I feared he could smell my arousal. Sense it. As if I were dealing with an animal and not a man.
‘That’s just residuals from the dream,’ I told myself.
‘Pardon?’
I cocked my head and then blushed. I had said that aloud. I hadn’t meant to.
‘Nothing. Not enough coffee,’ I said, willing myself to move back and going nowhere. ‘And I guess I won’t be getting any more now will I?’
I laughed stupidly – nervously – and cringed to hear it.
‘I can make you coffee if you want more,’ he said, moving past me, his boots thunking on my wide plank wood floor.
He moved like a force of nature. Big and bold but controlled. He made me feel hot and cold at the same time, being so close to him. It was awful. It was wonderful. It had me feeling on edge, like I might laugh or weep at any given moment.
I felt a rush of guilt thinking of Deke and then reminding myself I was not in for anything serious. No long haul. No love at first sight or any off that bullshit. I was not ready to tie myself down to anyone before I had a handle on the life I wanted.
Whatever the hell that was.
This man, this big lean man, waltzed into my kitchen like he owned it. He took my red enamel pot and filled it with two coffee cups full of water.
'Matches?' he asked.
I handed him the box from the counter. Then Coop turned the burner until we heard the gas hiss and lit it with a wooden kitchen match. 'Gas and electric men, we always have tricks.' He grinned at me and then he opened the junk drawer and rifled through it. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he asked, ‘You have a small strainer?’
‘How small?’ I almost whispered. It was hard not to just watch him and his economical movements.
‘Size of a tuna can?’
‘Nope.’
‘Coffee filters?’
I opened a box on the counter and felt my robe gape a bit. I also felt his eyes on me and it made me flush hot, like I was out in the sun. I rummaged, clutching my robe with one hand, rifling with the other. Finally, I yanked out a package of filters and handed it to him.
‘Another pot? A bowl? A large measuring cup?’
More rummaging and I handed him a glass measuring cup with a spout.
‘Thank you, Farrell,’ he said. ‘Where are you off to today?’
‘Applying at a dog salon,’ I snorted.
He smiled at me, stunning me a bit. Turmoil started in my stomach and much, much lower. I nodded, unable to speak.
Deke made me feel bold and wild. Coop made me feel barely in control and on edge, constantly off kilter and unsteady. It was oddly pleasant to feel after so many years of trying so very hard to pilot a destiny that did not want to behave.
Which reminded me to be nervous about my looming dog salon job interview. I couldn’t decide if it was a step up or a step down from working at a bar. Or maybe it was just a lateral move. And maybe that was okay.
When the water came to a boil he asked me, ‘Strong or weak?’
At first I thought he meant me. And I almost said strong … I hope. But then I realised he meant coffee and I stuck with my original answer. ‘Strong.’
I stared at my ugly mukluks and my freshly
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