Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty by Alice Ross Page B

and any remnants of rational thought shot into orbit. As he pointed out things on the boiler, she watched, transfixed, as the muscles in his smooth tanned back tantalisingly flexed. Something deep in the pit of her stomach fizzed as she imagined smoothing her palms over the contours, tracing the muscles with her fingers, reaching around to his front and untying the towel –
    â€˜So if it happens again, you’ll know what to do,’ he turned and looked her directly in the eyes. It was more than Annie could bear. A wave of red-hot lust crashed over her. With a great deal of effort she tore her gaze from his. Bad move. Her temperature soared and her heart hammered as she stared directly across the corridor into the room Jake was obviously sleeping in, the bed he was obviously sleeping in. The bed with its crumpled sheets. Sheets that would now hold his masculine scent. Sheets that she wanted to lie on, with Jake beside her, wet and naked. She wanted him to pick her up, carry her across the corridor, throw her on the bed and ravage her senseless.
    â€˜Annie? Are you all right?’
    Annie clattered back to the here and now to find Jake looking at her with a very peculiar expression on his face. Which wasn’t surprising. She’d just made yet another fool of herself in front of him. She only hoped he couldn’t read her thoughts. But, by the way he was looking at her, maybe he could. Burning with embarrassment, she cleared her throat.
    â€˜Right. Well. I’m, um, glad it’s fixed,’ she managed to squeak, before turning on her heel and flying down the stairs and back to the cottage as fast as she could.
    â€˜You all right, dear?’ asked Mrs Mackenzie as she bowled into the kitchen a few minutes later.
    â€˜Yes, fine thanks,’ said Annie, making a stab at nonchalance.
    â€˜Why is your face red?’ demanded Sophie.
    â€˜It isn’t.’
    â€˜Yes it is. And you’re breathing all funny.’
    â€˜I ran back over the grass,’ said Annie, ignoring the strange look Mrs Mackenzie slanted her. ‘I just need a, um, glass of water.’ She scuttled over to the sink, grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap.
    â€˜Has Mr Sinclair fixed the boiler?’ asked Sophie, going back to her finger-knitting.
    â€˜Yes. Yes he has,’ said Annie.
    â€˜Well, well, well.’ chuckled Mrs Mackenzie.
    Still with the towel wrapped around his waist, Jake flopped down on his bed the moment Annie left. What the hell had happened there? Clearly he had startled Annie when he’d walked into the room. Her emerald-green eyes wide with shock, and tendrils of blonde hair escaping the confines of her ponytail, she had looked so incredibly sexy, that he’d battled a prehistoric urge to sling her over his shoulder and carry her across the hall to his bed. Instead, in the absence of any better ideas, he’d babbled on about buttons and switches, clearly, judging by her hasty retreat, boring her rigid in the process.
    Crikey. He’d been in the village less than forty-eight hours and that was his second disconcerting experience. More worrying was that the first had also involved Annie Richards or, more precisely, her silky smooth skin as he’d brushed the smudge of chocolate from her cheek the previous evening. The bewildered look in her beautiful green eyes had caused something to squeeze around the area of his heart. Almost as unfathomable as the wave of relief that had washed over him on learning that she and Sophie lived alone at the cottage. What difference could that possibly make to him? None, he reassured himself. None at all. Annie Richards might be as tempting as her limoncello cupcakes, but that didn’t mean he was interested in a relationship with her. He would never be interested in a relationship with anyone. Ever again. Because relationships involved feelings; feelings that had been buried at the same time as Nina’s body; feelings Jake